update from sparkleup

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Madison Scott-Clary 2020-09-24 14:00:12 -07:00
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<p>The sound of wind coming down over the Flatirons in Boulder made me feel hollowed out &mdash; and I know that doesn&rsquo;t sound like an emotion, but I promise it was &mdash; like some sort of pipe in an organ, like the wind was blowing <em>through me</em>. It was not quite longing, not quite <em>saudade</em>. It was like if the unbidden thought of &ldquo;is astral projection just a wish with very visual imagery?&rdquo; were a mood. I would see myself, with my arms outstretched, borne away over the valley to the east of the Flatirons, looking down over the quiet and dark highway 93, past the cement factory, until I was set down amidst the wind turbine testing range, because wasn&rsquo;t that where the wind wanted to go?</p>
<p>You know.</p>
<p>Not music, but a feeling.</p>
<hr />
<p>I must have been a very easy child to shop for, because I mostly just loved paper. Paper and pends and rulers. I <em>really</em> loved rulers.</p>
<p>When I was a kid in elementary and middle school, my dad would pay be $20 or so to run off blueprints or print and bind presentation books for him and I loved it. <em>Loved</em> it. I would prowl through his office supply closet at work and just enjoy all of the different pens and pencils and erasers and notepads that he kept in stock. Binder clips. The comb binder. The giant stapler. The boxes and reams and sheaves of paper.</p>
<p>So one day one of my parents, I forgot which, bought me a pad of staff paper, and by then I was already well into playing the saxophone, and I started &lsquo;composing&rsquo;. It wasn&rsquo;t really that, of course. It was mostly writing down embellished versions of my warm-ups and exercises and calling them original compositions</p>
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