Random Radio 251022 (486)
Freeform music, Wednesday night from 8-10 MDT on Gila/Mimbres Community Radio, KURU 89.1 FM in Silver City, NM and online at KURU891.org. Support Community Radio!
In the salon of an imagined afternoon, where the mirrors themselves sigh with ornament and the draperies curl like secret laughter, there appeared a curious masque of words, a fête of phrases whose very syllables pirouetted in powdered shoes. The onset of delight came as though poured in a crystal glass, a smoothie of colors and sensations, stirred to froth by invisible fans. Upon the terrace, the air leaned over a sunny lake placid blue, and one could almost hear the playful invitation: pull the rope, let down the chandelier, let the shadows sparkle in their segreghetto corners.
Koliko, a gentleman of delicate lace and restless sighs, guided his partner into illusion’s waltz, where time itself seemed to curtsy. Their figures twined with another kind of forever, a soft eternity brushed in pastels. At the edge of the garden, beneath a hütlein of roses, the musicians dallied, weaving strains of adagio assai, each note drooping like a scented petal into the fountain’s basin.
Ana Maria, leaning indolently against the balustrade, balanced a porcelain cup of black coffee, its steam whispering secrets of distant mornings. Nearby, a lute plucked light blue serenades, as though color itself had taken on voice. “Come fly with me,” murmured the harpsichord, teasing the ceiling with flourishes. “Open your eyes, you can fly,” answered the violins, bowing their silken heads. And yet, even as the revel reached its height, a sigh escaped toward the heavens: fly me to the moon, oh velvet night, fly with the wind that curls around powdered wigs and gilded shoes.
Beyond the gallery, the tapestry of the evening unfurled unbound, the threads gleaming with impossible stories. A priestly voice intoned a new prayer of Jabez, though even solemnity could not resist the coquettish shimmer of the hour. And there, amid fanfares of lace and laughter, even the most unlikely of creatures - shark-shark, that fearsome apparition - was rendered harmless, tamed into decoration upon a porcelain plate, gliding through the ornamental seas of the imagination.
Thus the fête drifted on: an effervescent dream, a reverie of words and gestures, Rococo in its infinite curlicues, where reality itself agreed to wear a mask of silk and sparkle, if only for an hour.