My Wake-Up Call
A Morning With Verdi
Reclining at my desk with nothing on my mind not even a thought or a reflection other than this, my chosen moment — treasured — warming my hands on a hugged mug of coffee — forbidden pleasure — the coffee that is — must watch my blood pressure and all that stuff — moody, I perceive detachedly. I choose to ignore the sky and clouds vying for my attention as they dart a mix of shadow and light to distract me from idly doing nothing. No, I’m way too concentrated on my mindless state of precious grumpiness — a lockdown of the senses for want of a better allegory. After a while, though, coffee almost through, I note a sound seeping through my sleepy blur — a melody tuning my body from head to toe, attracting me reluctantly to a duet of voices emitting passionately from my inconspicuous radio — a musical pleasure awakens my semi-slumbering spirit. Feet tapping, I turn up the volume and enraptured chill to the vocal harmony of Southerland and Pavarotti singing Bella figla dell’amore from Verdi’s Rigoletto — oh what a delight — the perfect escort to an awaking consciousness of a spirit now alight.
