I’m learning a
piece called I Giorni which means “The Days”. Days may be passed, spent,
or seized. I used to say when walking my dog Shadow, ‘The days of Shadow are good
days.’ Those were days that came to an end. The days of the pandemic are
strange days. These must also reach an ending.
While some parts
of I Giorni are hard for me to play, parts of some days are hard to
stay. Some are grim indeed. But each of
the days has its purpose. Rainy days for
growing. Shiny days for walking. Holidays for resting. Each day has its times. Who
blames the high sun of noonday for not being the pale light of dawn, with intriguing
expectations? The golden hour so perfect for photography is the dog watch of
evening. Short, but excellent.
While merely a
child, you’re a baby; toddler; primary; teenaged: growing into adult knowledge.
For life. While merely aged, you’re old; an admirable antique; then an amiable ancient;
eventually a surprising sage: growing on to wise reflections, should we live so
long. Seeing through the ways. Tasting how the times play to themselves.
Listening to the ages and the days. For good.