The Last Day of Summer

By the time it was over (equinox yesterday* at 9:29 pm CDT), I too had regained some equi-librium. After a day encountering the shortcomings of higher education in Eunice, I went to the local coffee shop.  At a sidewalk table was a fellow orchestra member, who asked how I was dealing with that troublesome passage of sixteenth notes in Dvorak’s  “American Suite.”

“Slowly,” I answered. As a novice violinist, I am not in his class.  He claims to have no talent, just persistence. We shared our practice methods and lamented the lack of interesting writing for second-violin. Don’t worry, audience; we’ll sound pretty good by April.

After the refreshing little chat, I went to meet my writing group. We discussed work we’d done, writers we liked, how to analyze a short story for revision, and the limits of  humanity. It’s a fun group. I felt much more energy, and some more optimism, as I walked in the dusk to my car. On Highway 13, low in the southwest, the teapot of Sagittarius was pouring out stars.

*Monday, September 22, 2014

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