after the quake
Um like hi. Long time no see~ but now I'm back, bearing gifts (: watch this space!
From where I stood, I could see a string quartet playing nearby; four comely ladies sawing lustily at their instruments. I felt almost voyeuristic watching them, hearing them even better than I could see. They smiled at each other and at the camera-wielding crowd steadily amassed around them, looking haughtily attractive and European.The girl on the cello had a large face and brown hair fastened to her head by a volley of bobby pins, lined up like soldiers. She had bare calves. Her skirt was hitched up around her ankles, revealing a pair of strappy black shoes with high, spindly heels. She could have been friends with the stiltwalker several floors above; a pale man dressed as Elvis with a great, pointed bush of hair on his head. She pursed her lips as she pulled her bow across the strings; appeared vaguely offended by the cameras and grinned at her accompanists once in a while.
The first violinst was beautiful. She had hair like an Egyptian Pharoah's headpiece, blonde locks and fringe streaked with oily black and bistre, framing her narrow, petite face. Her eyes were deep-set, darker than lapis lazuli and she had small, curled lips. She held her violin like a glass frisbee or a precocious child and skated the bow across it cleverly. When the first two songs ended, she turned casually to her neighbour.
A string quartet has two violinists. In this particular one, the first was clearly prettier than the other, although the second could hold her own in a crowd. Her features were attractive, though regrettably immemorable. She was pleasant and figuresome, but not much else. Both violinists were wearing empire-cut black dresses with plunging necklines. They shared an air of measured arrogance and joy, mixed into the Four Seasons Concerto like spices in a dish. They, and the cello player, took their cues from the last girl.
This last lady played the viola; this commanded her a modicum extra of respect. A viola is about a third larger than a violin, big and elegant enough to intimidate, yet neither big nor elegant enough to appear clumsy and hateful. Her hair was in tight curls which leapt down her neck and met, trapped in a thick elastic band before fanning out across her back. It was a blend of golden and bronze, the color of a wheat harvest, curled into corkscrews. She had high cheekbones and almond-shaped eyes and deep pink lips, which gave her a moderately comandeering expression. It was she who gave the cue for the quartet to begin playing, and she who raised her bow first to lead the salute at the end of every song. The Four Seasons Concerto finished on a high and the last note lingered in the air like the gushing of a wine fountain. Applause would always be in order.
Every piece executed is a small triumph in the harmonic empyrean. The string quartet played for hours on end, each staccato scribed carefully into the annals of music with shorthand; letters like minims and crotchets. That afternoon, the four were not fighting a battle. They were winning the war.
Don't say I abandoned you for tumblr, k LJ! D
From where I stood, I could see a string quartet playing nearby; four comely ladies sawing lustily at their instruments. I felt almost voyeuristic watching them, hearing them even better than I could see. They smiled at each other and at the camera-wielding crowd steadily amassed around them, looking haughtily attractive and European.The girl on the cello had a large face and brown hair fastened to her head by a volley of bobby pins, lined up like soldiers. She had bare calves. Her skirt was hitched up around her ankles, revealing a pair of strappy black shoes with high, spindly heels. She could have been friends with the stiltwalker several floors above; a pale man dressed as Elvis with a great, pointed bush of hair on his head. She pursed her lips as she pulled her bow across the strings; appeared vaguely offended by the cameras and grinned at her accompanists once in a while.
The first violinst was beautiful. She had hair like an Egyptian Pharoah's headpiece, blonde locks and fringe streaked with oily black and bistre, framing her narrow, petite face. Her eyes were deep-set, darker than lapis lazuli and she had small, curled lips. She held her violin like a glass frisbee or a precocious child and skated the bow across it cleverly. When the first two songs ended, she turned casually to her neighbour.
A string quartet has two violinists. In this particular one, the first was clearly prettier than the other, although the second could hold her own in a crowd. Her features were attractive, though regrettably immemorable. She was pleasant and figuresome, but not much else. Both violinists were wearing empire-cut black dresses with plunging necklines. They shared an air of measured arrogance and joy, mixed into the Four Seasons Concerto like spices in a dish. They, and the cello player, took their cues from the last girl.
This last lady played the viola; this commanded her a modicum extra of respect. A viola is about a third larger than a violin, big and elegant enough to intimidate, yet neither big nor elegant enough to appear clumsy and hateful. Her hair was in tight curls which leapt down her neck and met, trapped in a thick elastic band before fanning out across her back. It was a blend of golden and bronze, the color of a wheat harvest, curled into corkscrews. She had high cheekbones and almond-shaped eyes and deep pink lips, which gave her a moderately comandeering expression. It was she who gave the cue for the quartet to begin playing, and she who raised her bow first to lead the salute at the end of every song. The Four Seasons Concerto finished on a high and the last note lingered in the air like the gushing of a wine fountain. Applause would always be in order.
Every piece executed is a small triumph in the harmonic empyrean. The string quartet played for hours on end, each staccato scribed carefully into the annals of music with shorthand; letters like minims and crotchets. That afternoon, the four were not fighting a battle. They were winning the war.
Don't say I abandoned you for tumblr, k LJ! D