Art: Big wave from drone view by Gwendolyn Pryor
OVERTURE
He does a twinkle on the piano. Opens his mouth, lets go a high note. Loudest one he can muster,
it lasts and lasts and lasts. His note, his breath morphs into ribbons of wind. Ribbons swirl, brush
against the chamber’s stone walls. They cross paths and accelerate. Converging into a hurricane,
they rise and slam into glass dome above. Compelled to escape. At the top, glass chips. Shards fall.
Chips splinter into cracks, crevices, fissures. Man cries but continues singing.
Center of chamber. He rises from piano bench and reaches his arms upward. Sun beams through
each crack, crevice, and fissure. Then . . . the dome shatters, bursts into stained glass crystals. Blue,
green, yellow, and red crystals bedazzle dark winds. Cling to the hurricane. They swim. No more
singing. No more crying. As the hurricane spins through open roof, crystals drift a slow descent.
They transform into droplets, and they splash, open up. Out explodes multicolored paint.