Fiddle Fatigue/la mort de la musique

La saison commence agréablement. La foule s’intéresse à tout. Les gens sont de plus en plus nombreux. Mais un soir, silence. Parfois ça prend plusieurs soirs pour arriver à la fin de la haute saison.
They filled the halls, they clapped and stomped their feet. They cheered and sang along. The musicians were hopeful- would it continue? And one night, or was it gradually over several, there were empty seats and fewer cheers. Those on the band wagon dropped off. The message no longer resonated, the notes floated suspended. The instruments no longer could produce the magic. They fell silent.
Au bord de la mer, on se repose de toute la discussion politique. On écoute le va et vient des vagues, les cries des oiseaux. On peut réfléchir.
Once the fiddle is laid down on the sand, does it cease to be an instrument because it is no longer playing? Once the OT,Physio or teacher takes her/his retirement is their future merely one of decay? There is a lot to be said for reflection, but an indeterminate time of idleness might destroy one’s integrity. Over-stimulation begins to resemble inertness. The danger of both is that reasoned activation may no longer be possible.
Après des mois de sur-information sur les élections américains, on peut avoir le goût de s’isoler, de dire que rien ne pourra changer. C’est justement le temps de prendre nos instruments en main pour effectuer nos droits civiques et d’encourager les autres à le faire.
Possibly no one reading this has a vote in the US elections. We may all have gone away to hide our heads in the sand. We may be disillusioned by the strident sour notes coming from the candidates. What can we do? We can encourage the electorate to have its say and carefully ponder the options. The rest of us can pray or play our fiddles as Washington burns.

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