As the cold November rain falls outside my window, as it hits the pavement in my driveway, I think to myself, "I need my life's crescendo to be here." Because my life's been a piece that's been played way too slowly and way too softly. I want that excitement of a crescendo. The anticipation is killing me.
There's nothing like the drums beating loudly, the piano echoing through the room, and all of the strings playing at once. It's a burst of beauty. You cannot describe crescendo accurately with words, because there is something that happens inside your heart when you hear it. But the more I think about it, the more I think "what happens after the crescendo?" Usually after the peak, things start to slow down and soften again. And then it ends on a coda.
I'm not sure crescendo is the right thing at this moment. It will be lovely and beautiful when it happens, but maybe I still need to practice for it. A bit of more time spent reading the music, you know? But I'm ready to move forward, past these measures I've been stuck on. This is where the tempo quickens. I can hear the metronome ticking. I'm going to start playing faster now. And louder. The 24th measure has been completed.
The crescendo has been composed, I know. It has been written. I'm getting there. I guess I just need to keep listening.
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