Added: Jan 27, 2012

From: TheByronShort

Duration: 5:0

I have always had cruel and terrible dreams. Too much grilled cheese in the diet I've been told. Maybe the drink, or the long working hours. I myself have other theories. Some sick revenge being played out. A fat kid on an anthill jacked up on cola with a magnifying glass at high noon. Tonight, however, is different. Tonight I'm like Hemingway's Old Man, dreaming of Africa. The lions on the beach. Only I'm dreaming of the Torres Strait. Those all but secret islands speckled between the tip of Cape York and Papua New Guinea. This is vivid. You'd swear I'd seen the place firsthand to be dreaming in such beautiful scope and detail. The day is warm, but the sea breeze nullifies any discomfort. This is an island scene -- with every cliché present and necessary. Coconut palms stand strong and tall at the edge of the grassland and the beach -- perfect white sand occasionally disrupted at the shoreline by the incoming tide. There are a couple of young islanders locked into some kind of playful communion with the gentle waves. Laughing and playing in the sun. The senses are stolen away now by the aroma of an island cookout. Hole in the ground lined with bark and filled with the cuts of the day's kill, probably a boar - covered by a few branches of palm, spread just enough to let some of the smoke waft through the congregation. The island ladies are dressed in colourful sarongs, chatting in their native tongue while their children play all around, intoxicated by the anticipation of a good feed. The men are solemn and thoughtful -- until the odd quiet and sly remark brings a sparkling smile to every face in the group. The food is served and devoured. My jealousy is ripe, even in dreaming. After a period of reflection and adjustment to the heroic intake of meat, the music begins. Music. This is how it's done. The island songs are simple, enough for the children to sing along. But the melodies are imbued with a strange beauty that could only exist in a place like this. The choir is smiling and laughing as they sing, unaware of the perfect, harmonious beauty they are creating together. I am lucky to be here. The voices spiral aloft into the nightsky where they linger for a while close to the stars, before dissipating to all corners of the galaxy. It is dreams like this that put me in my place.

Channel: Music

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