Thoughts from a highly domesticated creature in the outer boroughs
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Early Spring; Oboes.
Friday March 26 was a bright sunny cold day here in New York City. The elms in Union Square Park had just started to unfurl tiny pale green leaves that looked too delicate to be out in the wind just yet. Stout daffodils nodded slightly, their faces still pointed at the ground. A squirrel begged on hind legs for a piece of my cookie. Unless I stayed in the sun with my wool scarf wrapped around my neck I was too chilled to remain still. The weather was rich and bracing. It reminded me of this piece by Poulenc, a gentle day suddenly overcast for a moment, then the smooth liquid oboe notes like sunshine carried on a breeze. Trio for Oboe, Bassoon, and Piano, Andante