The Sculptor Lets Loose

“Yes, the wind and the leaves cause a ruckus together,” the agitated young sculptor went on, “but they do not enliven me, friend. I’ll agree that the sounds are technically lovely and comparable to a series of well-struck notes upon the finest harp, but there is no order in it that I can detect! Can you? I think not! Music, with its tidy construction, fools me into believing the universe to be as well made. But this sound of the universe unrefined gives me no such impression, and part of me is deathly afraid at this moment. And (what’s worse!) at the opera, one could scream and interrupt the performance. The players would stop, they would be sympathetic. Try screaming here! See if your lark or your precious robin care. Wait, I’ll do it!”

He screamed.

“Listen! Hardly a change! So, please, friend, keep your noble words to yourself, if you will. I am sorry to treat you this way. But now, please, understand that I did not agree to join you on this walk to marvel at Nature. I’ve come to say that I too love Anna”

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