J.S.Bach :: Prelude & Fugue in F Major, BWV 856 (WKI)

Behind the old beech hedges that I see trough the window -they were actually planted in 1931, the same date as the construction of the house were we live in, planted by Anja's grand father and together with a few meters elsewhere, the only remainders of what once was a hedge of about 200 meters, surrounding the complete property here, partly beech hedges, partly hawthorn - of the hawthorn is only one still surviving today, all the rest, and the rest of the beech hedges, removed by Anja's father, when he, as a proud farmer of his time, needed place and access to his ground with the new machines that came with the '50ties of last century. Anyway, the part of the old beech hedge that I see was decided once to stay unpruned, as to give shadow to some beautiful cows that once populated this ground, before the entrance of a complete new kind of population, that of one musician, the grown up daughter and soon thereafter two little girls. They don't eat grass, but adore the same shadow as much as in earlier days, and by not eating grass, I could add that my youngest of almost 4 refuses since a few months to eat anything that relates to vegetables or fruit. Well, that takes patience and time...

So, watching these old beeches, on the front dark green, but on the back highlighted by the evening sun, I am dreaming a bit of a large castle, beautifully furnished with a major staircase, where I would come down every morning, in complete silence, with nothing to worry about, entering a large but cosy room, full of wood, carpets, furniture, and my clavichord (and by that time my pianoforte as well), with -again- no sound of planes, cars, DJ-speakers, phones, ... absolutely nothing. I could choose to open one of the large windows, looking over a large garden - first grass, going down slightly, but soon changing into large trees, I see large poplars that make soft noises with their leaves if the wind feels in the mood to play some music, changing again in a really dark, almost impenetrable wood of pines - hearing birds singing or, if they have other things to do, just hear the wind blowing over the land and no single trace of something else - or I could choose to close the windows and just hear my feet whistling to the carpet, as they bring me to the clavichord, that I would open and play.

Nothing more. Except the voices now and then of my two girls running around the house, and the shadow of my wife leaning behind my back and listening, talking, ... A friend or close family visit on some evenings, at the fire place, to go through some memories of lost times, where the thoughts come as the flames play into the glow of the red wine. A Chateauneuf-du-Pape. Say 1985.

I arrive at an age on which one, piece by piece, starts to realise things that until recently even were unnoticed. One of these things is the realisation that some people are not good in separate their dreams from reality. The ideal from the maximum.

Heaven from life.

I am one of those. I know, it makes one run, it gives the energy to at least try to change things for the better, change the world even.

But it requires so much energy.

And tonight, again staring at the now almost lost sun-rays, I feel as I might be running a bit too fast. The last twenty years or so. And not always even in the right direction.

Of course, I leave tomorrow for Bruge to play the six Bach partitas, and all this thinking will have to do something with that.
I'm not playing in the big evening concerts, but as a part of the builders expo. It makes me wonder where this new road, that of my clavichord, the future pianoforte, that of this YouTube channel, that of the studio, our label, all that, where that will take me.

The Beech hedges will be the same within ten years.
But what will I be thinking when I would look through them, again as I did tonight?

w.

Related Videos