sinfoniafantastica.wordpress.com/ / by Leopoldo de Quevedo y Monroy Colombian think you, in which wept yesterday, beyond cousin, in sister or me when just start typing these images of music. I can imagine the wildness of Beethoven, deaf and awash with eighth notes and staves in his brain. They did not fit in the score. How many symphonies have not you been in his swollen aorta. And his own life, Symphony, completed in the form of tragedy. But, at the end, as a true masterpiece threaded so that today we read it and hear it a thousand times.
Cantatas, tantrums, clear Moon, light soups, matinatas in steeds, sonatas by colours as pictures of Gaugin, Renoir or Van Gogh roamed their neurons. Artists, geniuses like-, assassins, inventors, writers, poets, counters, artisans, masons, all write to every day black or white notes, silences, fusas or semiquavers in the short or long macrograma of personal life. Nothing is casual. Every event in the world has its sound, his loud ring, muted, staccato or slow. And little by little we will fill the score with sweats or tears, applause, festivals and races. A bass drum, interprets it once again the sweet flute or campaign or hoarse tuba.
Nothing clashes. The Symphony that each write is yours, unrepeatable, solemn, sad, allegro con moto or noisy as a tempest of lightning and ash. Everyone takes in the morning the instrument that is hand or according to you have air in your lungs. If you are going down the street is cast to shoulder the violin or guitar in the belly. If sits on the bus or the plane touches soft cymbals or writes the letter of an aria or reviews the first movement in the morning. The party plays the French horn or if it is with her partner invites her to dance a minuet or a waltz tararean. At meals, at work, in bed is the man or the woman an appropriate instrument and own for relaxation, the discussion music or the fioritura to the class at the Academy. And everything is being printed, such as a mp4 or an Ipad, the Symphony goes sounding radiant, bloody or andante According to the tone that give the fingerboard of the individual each day. If someday an accident who takes the baton or falls ill at a clinic day concert is not canceled or interrupted. Bass horns will sound, with plastered arm take flute or timpani sing with soft touches or will hold a black silence or green surgeon. The symphonies of Mozart, Haydn or Beethoven or Tchaikovsky were not always glossy or festive. Some sacred, others engaged in war or joy. Because life is not all colour of lily or strawberry or mint flavour. Once the up violin cries the guitarron croon or marimba rains, or the campaign plays dead. Not so the Symphony will be it and those who listen to it will not enjoy it. Our life is an endless number of echoes, strange sounds, outbursts of ayes and emotions, purrs, torey, Thunder or mansa water murmurios. Journal each of us plays the part of a work Summit. I think that my last note a job will give her in flat minor. 20-12-10 8: 16 am original author and source of the article.