Harboring these Thoughts

[Caden Cameron]

A perfect, quiet late morning. The birds weren't chirping, no, but the rain was pitter-pattering on her kitchen window in the small post-bed-and-breakfast apartment that she was staying in. With a kettle on the stove, steam rising into the air and causing the windows to fog up with humidity, Caden held her empty mug in her two hands, near her mouth. The blueberry tea bag was already lying out on the counter, and everything was waiting patiently for the water to come to a boil. On the small kitchen table, old magazines lay, their corners folded and worn, pages ripped out or bookmarked. And laying there on the pillow of a bed right around the corner into the living room was her small, one-eyed cat, Butterball, a tabby that she had adopted from the animal protective league. Caden smiled at the sleeping old cat, and listened for a whistle.

Soon after, it started up, but so as to not wake any others above or below or all around her, she promptly removed the kettle from the red burner and set it on the one behind it. Placing her cup down, she stuck the tea back on it, holding it to the side, and poured in the bubbling water. With one deep inhale..and then an equal exhale, the tea began to steep. Caden longed to drink this delicious brew, but knew better than to do so right now. Patience and you will be rewarded. Decidedly, she sauntered on into her living room, her second favorite room in the entire apartment. Old, rustic wooden floors, minimal furniture, and two windows for light. If she waited only ten more minutes, the light would shine in at just the right place to focus on the center spot in the room. And from there, she would play.

Placing her warm mug onto the old table nearest the dormant fireplace, she picked up a wooden chair, the only wooden chair in the room, and placed it squarely in the center of the floor. Then, with clicks and flips of metal switches, a creak of old hinges, Caden picked her Magnificence up, all of it, and took her seat. She placed it between her legs, grabbed her bow, and waited. Thirty more seconds to go and the light would arrive.

Three, two...one.. Light filled the room, and lit up all of the still life around her, shadows caught in mid-motion, dust particles swirling around the room lazily, and the rosin on her strings and bow standing up stark against the backdrop of her Magnificence. One long, low hum from the C, resonating on the frog, throughout the rest of the mane of hair. A few more violent and held strokes of her bow, now resting on not only the C, but the other three Perlon strings. She was in tune, and from there she picked up her bow, letting the sound linger ever so slightly in the body, until it faded from audible existence.

Caden closed her eyes, focusing all her attention on her visual memory. She had, after all, written the piece. Stilling her fingers, slightly trembling, and making the correct finger positions with her left hand, her bow just centimeters above the strings. With a sharp inhale, she began at her piece. It was a dark, rich melody. Slightly ominous, but only for the beginning. It would grasp audiences, draw them in, and once they were all together, her lullaby would rock them into a near-slumber, in the arms of assurance and trust.

This piece had taken many years for her to write, as it became a harbor of relief and comfort her as she battled certain obstacles in her younger life, especially during her parental conflicts, separation, divorce, her sense of unfortunate solitude. But it didn't just hold all of those negative emotions inside of a wooden box like that of Pandora. This lullaby was her overarching warmth, her song that was more comforting than any voice, including her own. This song was a relief from unruliness, from work, from stress. The one composition she had put so much time, sweat, thought and insomnia into. It had paid off in the end. And it was hers alone, hers all hers.