Trampled by Turtles

I stand alone in the crowd of unfamiliar faces. I feel my smile stretch my cheeks to my ears and a swell in my chest, oh boy! The rhythm of the banjo, the clear notes of the mandolin, the singer’s voice pauses as the bow pulls notes from the fiddle. The rhythm flows on. One song ends and the next begins. The voice sings fast. The bow plays frantic, as fingers move. Sounds from the harmonica then warmed by a voice and rhythmic plucks on strings. The music washes over me like the yellow and orange lights bath the band on the stage.The bow work hard on those strings, fingers play across the fret. That long, lonely sound. I left Nashville a fan of the fiddle. The pull in my heart as the sound emerges from the bow, drags across the strings. I, once a young girl, who shriveled as she passed through the family room, as the high tense sounds of the violin screeched from stereo speakers.

 

Listening to the sounds of Trampled By Turtles. The rhythm of the banjo, the clear notes of the mandolin, the singer’s voice pauses as the bow pulls notes from the violin. The rhythm flows on. One song ends and the next begins. The voice is fast. The bow frantic, as fingers move. Sounds from the harmonica then warmed by a voice and rhythmic plucks on the strings. The music washes over me like the yellow and orange lights bath the band on the stage. I stand alone in the crowd of unfamiliar faces. I feel my smile stretch my cheeks to my ears and a swell in my chest, oh boy! After five days of work I’m still on my feet. Wish I could close my eyes and hear the sounds played by the words on the page, right now. The bow working hard on those strings, fingers playing across the fret. That long, lonely sound. I left Nashville a fan of the violin. Open to the pull in my heart as the sound emerges from the bow. As it drags across the strings. Once a young girl shriveled as she passed through the family room where the high tense sounds of the violin screeched from stereo speakers.

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