The Unusual Applaud

The lights are dim, and the film begins to roll. The sound starts to play and I sit there in anticipation of what is about to be displayed before my eyes. A documentary: Man with the Movie Camera, 1929. I wait and low and behold, an orchestra soon begins to take position on stage. I love music. The film reels through from slide to slide, and I take in the action, but more importantly, my ears are saturated in the sweet sounds and melodies that ring in the air. I am elated at the quality and a smile is pasted on my face. The film continues from scene to scene and with each passing moment the same thought keeps flickering through my head. "Where in the world can I get my hands on this sound track?! This is amazing!!" Ninety minutes later
the finale comes to a close and there I am left in awe and wonder with my heart feeling warm, my eyes closed focusing on the auditory intake, and my hands naturally begin to clap and applaud the greatness of the performance that I have just witnessed. Startled back to reality, I find that I am not the only one clapping my hands together, but the class which I had lost consciousness of, has joined me in my appreciation. How marvelous! They appreciate this film (or this sound track) as much as I do! I exit the room in satisfaction and much to my chagrin the ears which were so beautifully treated by harmonies are rudely harassed with words of discontent. "What a waste of time. That sucked!?" In confusion and disbelief I become aware that what I perceived as greatness, another perceived as garbage; what I thought was appreciation, was merely mockery.
A week passes and I am reminded of the whole experience again. "Can you explain to me the unusual applaud at the end of "Man with the Movie Camera?" Yes I can sir. But my explanation only captures the one set of hands that started it all.

Gross'me'Green

If This Tree Could Speak

The other weekend, Brent and I went for a walk and heard this loud, furious, angry sounding screaming. It was quite the noise and it sounded very destructive, violent and disturbing. As we kept walking, the screaming came closer and we ended up walking right passed the bushes where the racket was coming from. This sick and distressing feeling came over me and all I wanted to do was go and talk to the guy and see what was wrong and why he was so upset. Brent had a head on his shoulders and stopped me from entering into the bush without thinking, and as we walked on by I prayed as release of what I was feeling. It was really sad to think about how this guy had so much anger and furry in him and yet had to go into the bush, all by himself to get it off his chest.
We went back later to where he had been, to find a tree fort of sorts, right on the edge of the water. It was cradled by this huge tree that had these big sprawling branches that hugged the lonely soul that sat in it's arms. The main platform of the fort had a ton of carvings and markings on it that could write novels of what had happened in that place.
Oh the stories this tree could tell if it only could speak. The secrets that were told and the memories that are erased. The words that were uttered and the curses that were thrown. The blessings that were embraced and the toxins that were inhaled. This tree holds it all. It is a place of security and a listening ear that will not object. It is a place of safety and a strong arm that will not beat back. It is a place of comfort and a warm heart that will not be hurt. If this tree could speak, oh the stories it would tell.