Tuesday, January 24, 2017

Opera House

The city beams.

The great grey bridge throws its strutted frame into the sky,
leaning on blue, arching. It’s like a feathered weight hanging
above me, watching the milling throng around the Quay.
There’s always movement here. Ferries churn scummy water
as gangplanks slide into place and people surge ashore, trains
roar overhead, the low thrumming growl of a didgeridoo attracts
a crowd. There are briefcases and backpacks, suits and sandals.
A child runs at pigeons, a homeless woman shelters by a wall.

There’s a lone, jaunty toot piercing the air.

I’m walking in the sun, taking it all in. I’m working, today,
at the Opera House. Conducting a Playback performance.
I’m wearing my best jacket and trousers and carrying a briefcase.
We’ve done several of these shows and I’m well prepared.
Experienced, I know I can take it in my stride. This is my calling.
I catch a glimpse of those curved sails with their white tiles
and my heart leaps. I love this building. I love this city. Here I am,
I think, going to my work in my city - out in the world.

My heart swells as light glances off the water. I smile.

17 January 2017

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