TITLE: The Leader of the Band
By Kathlyn Fauchon
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Grandpa Semibreve had lived so long. He had seen many things in his life time.
“Life, death, life, death,” he boomed out on the big kettledrum – 16 counts, 4 strikes – slooow time. He was old and he was slow but his family loved him.
“Laught, cry, laugh, cry,” he beat out another four bars.
In answer Mr. Minim, Grandpa’s son, sounded out “Feelings, feelings, God giv’n feelings,” on his bassoon.
Another four bars but at least it had some melody to incline the heart to sing.
“That’s how it is.. That’s how it is..” piped Little Crotchet on her piccolo, changing the beat. Her pretty tones tinkling in the upper register.
“Life in time, Life in space” sounded Mr. Minim, Little Crotchet and Aunty Dot Minim in rhythmic repetition. Aunty Dot had a bell.
“You all sound so slow and boring, You all sound so slow and boring,” played restless Semiquaver on his brand new flute. He loved to show off and kept repeating it over and over until...
Mr. Cymbal silenced him, “Come now lets’s reason together” he said after the vibrations had faded away and everyone had lifted their jaws off the floor. “You are all airing your knowledge but you are not making music. Listen, Mr. Quaver has something to say.” Mr. Quaver and Mr. Minim are brothers you know.
Mr. Quaver, his heart racing, lifted his trumpet and with clear sounding notes said, “Listen now, Exciting news,” and he repeated these two triplets (and one crotchet) up the arpeggio. He allowed rests in between to add emphasis. I think he just wanted to take a breath.
All eyes were on Quaver. “Tell them Maestro,” he said to the Conductor.
Mr. Conductor stood up. There was a hush. Suddenly there was an awed “Oooh.” The musicians hadn’t recognised who their conductor was until now. It was none other than the Stranger who met the men on the Road to Emmaus. How their hearts beat within them.
“If you follow me, follow my beat, I will take you to the place where there is no time and no tears, only joy, all joy. It is real life,” said the Conductor.
“Hosanna to the King,” they all shouted “We will follow Him.” And so do I.
© January 2008 Kathlyn Fauchon.
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