art by jc
read some of the stories that inspired, or were inspired by, the different compositions on the album 'music for short stories'.
more will be added, as and when...
into the scenery
orchestra with guitar, church organ and solo horn. 08:56.
listen to the music while you read...
click here for a plain text version of 'into the scenery'
Into the Scenery
A short, stout man stood up and said, “I… am going for a walk!”
He pulled on his old boots, threw on the family coat, shut the front door firmly behind him and marched off up the road. His only friend watched him go and then curled up again and went back to sleep on her window sill, hoping he would be back before dinner time.
Accompanied by the usual light rain, he hurried away from the mad hustle and bustle of the village, which was really no more than a small collection of low buildings, randomly placed around the shell of an ancient hall of some sort, and a nasty, shallow, weed-filled pond.
He needed solitude after a particularly trying morning, having been unable to escape the sound of a selfish neighbour’s hacking cough and then being confronted by the sight of a small, naked child, in all its glory, which had run past his open window, leaving a distinct smell of shit in the air. Only yesterday, he had even had a forgotten visitor knocking at his front door and peering through his window, from whom he had had to hide under a table until dark.
The road, such as it was, soon left all of that behind him. Individual small, bent houses and unkempt gardens gave way to large, empty fields and old stone walls. He was heading for the nearby hills which rolled away over the landscape towards the ever-present mountains looming up in the background. After an hour or so, he saw a small bird flitting about in a tree and then, later, what might have been the backside of a rabbit, hurrying away, but nothing and, more importantly, no-one else. Feeling the tension begin to loosen from his angry mind, he enjoyed a deep breath of the fresh air, held his head up high and walked on, tramping through the mud, grass and gravel.
He reached a crossroads and paused. He would usually carry
straight on and be back home in time for an early tea, but today,
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with the rain easing, he examined the other choices spelt out roughly on a wooden signpost that he had never taken much notice of before.
He took the path that led over High Pass. No-one was going to disturb him up there. Though, of course, he wouldn’t be going all the way. He had heard that it could take days to reach the other side, wherever that was. In fact, he couldn’t think of anyone who had ever gone all the way over there, or, if they had, had then thought it worthwhile to come back and tell the tale.
With sweeping grassy slopes on either side becoming higher and steeper as he went, the man strode along this far
less-travelled track. Half-buried boulders and narrow, rocky ledges jutted out at apparently impossible angles, with the very occasional sight of a ragged sheep clinging to them, for fun presumably.
He reached the top of a short, difficult climb and stopped to take in the landscape laid out in front of him. Verdant greens and soft browns in the dales below gradually blended with the
starker greys and blacks of the higher slopes, until, gazing up further still, beyond a layer of dull, flat cloud, he could see the peaks themselves, painted a comparatively striking off-white.
The path was becoming less distinct and he was compelled to take some undignified long strides and short hops to avoid rocks and loose scree that threatened to send him back the way he had come. He saw thin streams of freezing water falling from high openings in the now near-vertical slopes around him, cascading down through the grass below to meet rivers of dark green that rushed away, looking for a place where they could join up and race through a valley floor to who knew where. It was all deeply impressive and he became aware of a great sense of contentment. The cold air seemed to be moving through his whole body as he breathed heavily from his exertions, taking with it all the stresses and strains of life
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in this new world.
He paused once more and gazed around at the wild, deserted panorama for a while with a broad smile on his wide face. The rain had eased and he noticed that the mountains seemed sharp and close now and that the wind rushing around him had a tone that thrummed through his head, encouraging him onward. He could smell, almost taste, the rich peaty mud and was aware of every last stone and crevice through his big, heavy boots as he strode on again, up and up.
Mere contentment had turned to delight and then an exhilarating joy. A strange euphoria rose in waves from deep within him and, without really being aware of why, he began to sing. He had never been accused of having a voice that could hold a tune of any kind but now he sang an impromptu hymn for the scenery around him. In a surprisingly strong, high, warm tenor, he raised his voice to the blue-grey sky and praised its magnificent vastness. He gave thanks, to whom or what he didn’t know, that his unworthy eyes should behold the sweeping majesty of this wide horizon and the glory of such transcendent summits above and…
The increasingly high-flown words and phrases forming in his mind, many previously unheard of, now seemed totally appropriate and he continued to happily give voice to them in
song as he marched on through the sublime grandeur of his stupendous surroundings (whatever that meant).
His route, barely a recognisable path by now, descended slightly into a small dell, just out of the wind and hidden away from those remarkable views by some large non-descript boulders piled up in a jarring, disorganised heap. Feeling suddenly quite deflated and a bit lightheaded, he sank down onto the damp grass and took stock.
His song had come to a natural end, as if of its own volition, and a pleasant sense of well-earned weariness descended upon him as he leaned back against a large rock. The rain, which had
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gone away for a while, now came back again and he raised his face to it and, with eyes closed, enjoyed its refreshing touch. His over-exercised senses seemed to gently ease, the falling drops of water were slowing down and he noticed distantly that the beautiful clean air didn’t appear to be flowing into and out of him with the same urgency anymore, if at all…
The wind suddenly picked up and, rushing through the dell, whirled and fussed about his still body. His eyes flew open and, seemingly electrified, he jumped up, burst into song once more and hurried to the other side. He scrambled up and found himself standing on a wide rocky shelf, the edge of which fell away in a sheer, vertical drop.
He looked out over the whole world curving off into the distance, far below. With his long coat flapping violently
about him, he walked forward, singing his ovation to the miraculous scene before him. The mountains towering on both sides seemed to sway this way and that and, as his song flew
away into the wind, he danced with them, turning slowly round and round, arms spread out in praise of their beauty and their might.
At last, senses completely overwhelmed, his mind as free from grievance and care as he could have ever wanted, he took one more, deep lungful of the intoxicating air and then ran towards the edge and, rejoicing, threw himself off and into
the scenery, forever.
cj cowley
august 2018
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lords and ladies (a 'dannsa air loch)
guitar, strings and organ. 05:56.
listen to the music while you read...
click here for a plain text version of 'lords and ladies'
Lords and Ladies (a ‘dannsa air loch)
We lie back on our bed of warm leaves, breathing heavily, heads together, barely touching, our skin shining in the light of a soft, summer evening.
A gentle, cooling breeze from over the loch discourages sleep and so, eventually, we both sit up and slowly dress and share a simple meal and a half-filled bottle.
We lean against each other without speaking and enjoy our secret solitude, a stolen moment away from family and neighbours who would surely denounce and condemn.
I notice a brittle humming, a sensuous buzzing, on the very edge of hearing but now building and spreading and weaving about us.
The warm, comfortable atmosphere seems to thicken and the minutes lengthen and the light deepen and the shadows slow.
We pull apart and watch amazed as the world… stops.
Looking around, I find that I am alone.
He is standing by the water’s edge, staring out at a vague disturbance in the air that is approaching from the far shore.
My breath catches when I begin to see a tall, lissom figure within the haze, becoming the soft image of a woman walking gracefully across the still surface of the loch.
A pale dress of impossible lightness is slowly flaring about her, following her slender limbs as she comes, now bending and swaying with flowing arms and sweeping pirouettes in a silent, elegant dance.
Tresses of long, dark hair, edged with red and gold from the low, motionless sun, float about her face, which remains strangely indistinct to me as she shimmers in and out of focus.
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I am captivated and watch speechless as she leans forward and reaches out to him.
He takes her open, welcoming, perfect hands and they fold into each other’s arms and spin slowly away over the water.
Though my heart is twisting and tearing within me, I cannot look away as they turn together, fingers entwined and faces close, breathing in each other’s hot, sweet scent.
Now, tall, handsome lords in fine uniforms and beautiful ladies wearing gorgeous gowns of delicate lace are dancing across the surface in couples, in perfect unison, to an unheard andante reel.
Turning round and around the two, central, spell-bound figures, they approach the shore and then whirl away again, flashes of deep sunlight reflecting from buckles and gems.
My eyes ache from the dizzying display and I know that I am base and worthless in the face of such effortless glamour.
My heavy mind is filled with whispering voices of derision and disgust and a harrowing awareness of rejection and disgrace drags me down into bleak despair.
Through my tears I see them kiss and watch her caress his face with a long finger, tipped with a vicious claw that leaves a thin, scarlet line down his cheek and then across his throat, which begins to open.
The awful scene before me drifts away into a misty distance and I fall backwards into darkness, mourning my poor, lost love.
cj cowley
june 2019
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click here for a plain text version of 'last words'
Last Words
People of all shapes and sizes and ages and inclinations quietly filed into the large, old, round House from the cobbled Court’s yard outside. Their deliberate steps and the low rumble of the wind provided a suitably solemn atmosphere while they slowly milled around, greeting and chatting, waiting for The Entertainment to begin. Some had brought their dinner, others their children. The Very Important Ones, blessed with gold, stood at the front. (I was at the back).
The Official Party, in splendid, though somewhat faded, scarlet Robes, processed onto The Stage and busied themselves importantly with their books and chairs. They held a brief, whispered, furious discussion on the subject of seniority regarding desks, while The Introducer began her duties.
In a clear, high tone, she reminded everyone of where they were and why good manners were always welcome, and so on. The crowd ignored her in the traditional way until her voice had risen an octave and her face was a very satisfying shade of discontented red. They paid her a respectful attention eventually though and, as a huge dull-brown Curtain was slowly raised, swinging precariously behind her, they lifted their voices to join with hers and she introduced The Main Attraction.
She touched on his Character, his standing in their little community and related one or two good Reviews from friends and well-wishers. She mentioned humble Beginnings and hard-working Middles and more recent woes that had all taken a toll. His Ending, she added Dramatically, would be left to him and his fate. The Introducer then turned with arms spread wide and, with their enthusiastic backing ringing in her ears, she invited him to face The Audience.
The applause fell away and a relative silence echoed about the rafters high above as a large, thickset man, in a simple, ill-fitting outfit, walked heavily to the front of The Stage. Seemingly neither aware of the importance of his Role nor
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nervous of any Critics amongst them, he gazed out over the upturned faces before him. A few modest wagers were concluded, some idiots were hushed and he began to tell his Story.
Clasping his big, rough hands together before him and urged on by everyone there, his full, resonant voice started to find its way through a tale of undying devotion and desperate loss. The crowd lifted their voices and accompanied him through the highs and lows, expertly guiding him back to the main Theme when he seemed in danger of digressing, or indeed of misplacing The Plot entirely. His melancholy tone held the promise of the inevitable, unhappy fate of a once true Love, discovered with Another, being an un-named party of the second Part, and they began to lose themselves in the anticipation of a genuinely Sad Ending.
The Main Attraction stopped quite suddenly and stepped back unsteadily, leaving the crowd hanging, dissatisfied, on what might have been a diminished C (probably. Or perhaps not). Tears could clearly be seen sliding down his broken face, ruining his Make-up, while a low muttering began amongst The Audience, forced to Witness such a Tragic Spectacle. The Introducer gently propelled him forward again while she reminded everyone present of the virtues of Tolerance, on the one hand, and regular Rehearsal on the other.
He began again. The Full House was soon ringing with rising voices once more as everyone immediately forgave him. He mournfully related Scenes of joy and grief and Love and loss, again, and they offered their sympathy for his regrets and their support for his heartfelt repentance of unintended Sins. As he continued, he turned to face the Official Party, sitting silent and apparently unmoved behind their desks, and, without actually Pleading, but with high emotion, he humbly begged everyone present to reflect on the nature of Innocence and to consider the Roles of extenuating circumstances, odd coincidence and unfortunate accidents when Judging any Recital of the Truth, whole and unvarnished, as he could Swear it was.
The Introducer saw more tears and felt compelled to join in at a
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crucial moment with her own strong, pure voice. High harmonies soared toward the wooden roof of the beloved old building and low refrains hummed as though from the very floor and walls, raising dust and disturbing the ghosts, and the whole Performance built to a deeply moving conclusion.
Rich echoes died away once more and The Main Attraction sank to his knees, head bowed, pale and drained, having given everything in Defence of his Story. Everyone else drew breath for a while and began to congratulate themselves while the Official Party conferred.
The general feeling was hopeful, if not indecently confident, but, when an old, wooden mallet was banged on the most senior desk and a majority of large pieces of paper were held up by Official hands, the unhappy Final Score was publicly revealed. The Audience, in turn, gathered their wits, put aside their disappointment and a respectful quiet returned.
A Sentence was spoken and, on Cue, The Encore, who had been waiting expectantly in The Wings throughout, solemnly entered The Stage bearing irons. The Main Attraction slowly stood, the huge Curtain Finally fell back to the Stage before him, and he was led away, legs heavy and shoulders bent under the now clearly Proven Burden of his awful Guilt.
cj cowley
october 2020
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all music, words, artwork, design © julian cowley, 2024. all rights reserved.