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The Danube

I have disabled comments, but left the comment section open in many of the videos on this channel. I will reply if it matters....... The Danube flows through 10 countries and through history, This is the 2nd of 7 river songs, dedicated to the nature in which music was first created. I an a river Music flows through me. I have dedicated my life to music. I am no longer bound to the velvet curtains or the gilded proscenium. What is a stage, indeed? A wooden cage dressed in illusion, where we pretend to summon storms while the real thunder rolls unbidden over the Seine or the Rhine. The Colosseum was a marriage of audience and stage—yes, blood and spectacle, the crowd howling like wolves. Even our concert halls, polished and polite, carry that same hunger: eyes fixed, judgments sharp, applause measured like a verdict.  Abe Lincoln, that quiet giant of the prairies, understood suspicion in crowds in his last conscious moment. I too have felt the weight of their gaze, as if my notes were on trial. No more. My music now seeks the uncaged world. Let it drift with the current of the Danube, murmur through the reeds of the Loire, crash against the cliffs of the fjords. The oceans teach us vastness without applause; meadows whisper polyphonies no orchestra could contain; canyons hold echoes that outlast any encore.Imagine: a symphony not for rows of seats, but for the wind to carry. Notes born where two streams meet, swelling as the water does—gentle at source, fierce in torrent, serene at delta. No conductor's baton, only the river's own rhythm. No program notes; the landscape itself is the score. Birds improvise the counterpoint, leaves rustle the percussion, distant thunder adds the bass without asking permission.I dream of compositions played once, to the sky and stone alone. Perhaps recorded by the water's edge, left for wanderers to discover like hidden fossils of sound. Or better yet—no record at all. Let the music live its brief life in the moment, dissolve into mist, return to the elements from whence it came. Sans audience, sans stage, sans cage. My music knows no era's chain, Timeless, it flows beyond the age's reign. I compose not for the living throng, But for souls unborn, in futures yet unsung. To them I send these strains prophetic and strong, Echoes from a world where silence is undone.The stage of old shall vanish into dust, No gilded hall, no velvet-curtained trust. In days to come, performance shall arise Where art and wilderness entwine their guise— No separation 'twixt the sound and sky, But music woven deep in nature's sigh.The forest breath shall be the primal score, The river's rush the rhythm evermore. Winds through ancient boughs will carry tone, And distant thunder frame the chord alone. Man's artifice dissolves; the boundary fades, And harmony returns where once it strayed.Thus do I prophesy the age unborn: When every leaf a note, each stone a horn. The concert hall shall be the open plain, The audience the stars, the storm, the rain. My work awaits that dawn of pure accord, Where music, nature, spirit are restored.