Footprint in the Sand
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Bach, Chaconne
To our collective Amazement and Surprise, the first thing that we laid our Mortal eyes upon were these Aged documents, affixed as they were with Yellowed cellophane to a partition of Industrial Glass . These curled papers, as if presented by the very Heavens, revealed the familiar music of Europe that I had heard once as a Child, but never had the Fortune to sound on my instrument. Not knowing if I might ever return to those distant Shores, nor possibly ever hear these Sounds again in the good company of Family and Friends, I assembled my Flute and tried to do the notes Justice.
As upon the day that I discovered a Footprint in the sand, I realized, indeed, that I am not alone – someone, perhaps an Apparition with her unearthly Violin, had been in this god-forsaken Warehouse before me.
It happen’d one Day about Noon going towards my Boat, I was exceedingly surpriz’d with the Print of a Man’s naked Foot on the Shore, which was very plain to be seen in the Sand: I stood like one Thunder-struck, or as if I had seen an Apparition; I listen’d, I look’d round me, I could hear nothing, nor see any Thing, I went up to a rising Ground to look farther, I went up the Shore and down the Shore, but it was all one, I could see no other Impression but that one, I went to it again to see if there were any more, and to observe if it might not be my Fancy; but there was no Room for that, for there was exactly the very Print of a Foot, Toes, Heel, and every Part of a Foot; how it came thither, I knew not, nor could in the least imagine. But after innumerable fluttering Thoughts, like a Man perfectly confus’d and out of my self, I came Home to my Fortification, not feeling, as we say, the Ground I went on, but terrify’d to the last Degree, looking behind me at every two or three Steps, mistaking every Bush and Tree, and fancying every Stump at a Distance to be a Man; nor is it possible to describe how many various Shapes affrighted Imagination represented Things to me in, how many wild Ideas were found every Moment in my Fancy, and what strange unaccountable Whimsies came into my Thoughts by the Way.
When I came to my Castle, for so I think I call’d it ever after this, I fled into it like one pursued; whether I went over by the Ladder as first contriv’d, or went in at the Hole in the Rock, which I call’d a Door, I cannot remember; no, nor could I remember the next Morning, for never frighted Hare fled to Cover, or Fox to Earth, with more Terror of Mind than I to this Retreat.
Once secure in my Castle, I pulled out my laptop and Surfed on YouTube for a Souvenir that might rekindle my memories of Childhood, that distant Island seemingly beyond reach, save for the Gift of Musik.
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You’re currently reading “Footprint in the Sand,” an entry on Urban Flute Project.
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- 12.09.08 / 9am
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