classic

I have open on my PC desktop two windows. This one, where I'm typing, and another one, where a woman is furiously making her violin weep, and then whisper, and weep again. Herber von Karajan is the author of the graceful arms rising and arcing to woo the entire Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra to his soul. He is old, his scalp is pomaded with white hair that turns silver, under the light, when he twists to stretch his arms and baton out to cajole another part of the orchestra to go tidal on him, stay calm, and sway and rise and wild again. To his side is a violin soloist, the woman, whose eyes seem to siphon the sadness out of her instrument with her fixed gaze. She never lifts her eyes off her violin. I don't know what the conductor's gestures mean, only that an eyesweep of musicians ride his every eye, chin, wrist, arm movement; they weep as he weeps; they pause when he pauses; they roar when he signals them to. Every now and then the entire orchestra ceases, and conductor and soloist speak to each other. His hands must be saying the right things, for her violin is weeping again. The duet stops and the silence vanishes under the roar of dozens of violins. I usually dig classical music, but only to listen to it soothe me. Watching it is a completely other ordeal. I have in me, right now, a renewed sense of wow.