A Musical Digression


Only Song

Ireland lay below us like a green sea dotted with stones, flowing to the horizon.

We are atop an abandoned tower built for John Fitzempress Plantagenet, called Lackland…and beauty is all around use.

She stands alone on a broken battlement, blond hair gleaming in the fading light, singing Shubert lieder to the setting sun as we laugh and drink and discuss politics and history, sprawling below like peasants to her queen.

No wine or time or debate for her…only song.

Only song.

One day, a lifetime ago, I told her that that was a proof that God existed.

Now that is a proof that he does not.

Only song.

Only song.


1 Comment

  1. That made me cringe. The proof that the universe loves us and cares for us turned on a dime to the proof that the universe is cold and heeds not our pain. From the same action.

    Powerful. Very powerful.

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