Records of records

Then: Gleefully grabbing slabs of sound, not knowing what they contained but intrigued by the titles.

Now: Piles of unplayed still slabs, waiting, waiting to be heard again, performances long ago preserved in moments of glee, or reverence, or intensity, or passion.

Next: Undo the piles, listen to the moments, legacies of souls who heard in their heads sounds that would not fade or die, sounds to keep, if not for all time, then at least for longer than their lifetimes.

Baton passed, the sounds are here,

Waiting, preserved in cardboard boxes,

Waiting, preserved in old plastic,

Waiting, not intended to wait, but to be spun and savored.

How long must they wait to sing and play again?

Published by WarrenBluhm

Wordsmith and podcaster, Warren is a reporter, editor and storyteller who lives near the shores of Green Bay with his wife, two golden retrievers, Dejah and Summer, and Blackberry, an insistent cat. Author of Echoes of Freedom Past, Full, Refuse to be Afraid, Gladness is Infectious, 24 flashes, How to Play a Blue Guitar, Myke Phoenix: The Complete Novelettes, A Bridge at Crossroads, The Imaginary Bomb, A Scream of Consciousness, and The Imaginary Revolution.

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