My symphony...

Have you ever closed your eyes and listened to a symphony? Have you ever imagined what sort of images and stories are woven into the sounds and flow of the symphony? Everyone has a different interpretation and concept of what emotions each composer trys to entail in their work. It could be chaos, serenity, confusion, grace, or even destruction. Everyone also has their own symphony... Listen to mine.
It starts with the slow induction of the low pitched, sorrowed violin. Imagine an aged by look but not by years type of woman, with a sullen expression and closed eyes playing this segment, representing the slow, uphill battle of the early years. Those years where you struggle to find who you are, and reach out for things that are not within arms reach. Then all of a sudden chimes in a slightly rosy-cheeked, luminous young woman, close eyed as well, but with a slight smile behind her expression, playing that high pitched fluttery flute noise you often hear when a bird chimes in or when an infant flutters its eyes open for the first time. This segment is the beginning of my epiphany, that little spark in my life that ignited all the rest, the spark that set me free, building upon my determination to reach further. The conducter, who wears her age within her wrinkled expressions, along with her experience, gracefully and steadily raises one hand, while beckoning more instruments with the other into this chaotic mix of sounds, turning the entire stage into an abundance of excitement and stress, then suddenly and sharply strikes both hands up yelling "Forte!" without even moving her mouth. This is my climax, this is when the deep sounding drums subtly thump into through the distance. When the drum roll quickens in pace. When the trumpet erupts through all of the surrounding sounds and the quitest of tunes climbs to the loudest of octaves. This is when the musicians faces are most concentrated, fierce, and determined. It's as strong and powerful as a double-neck guitar solo in a rock ballad, but as graceful as a light-footed ballerina prancing across a rose-petal-covered stage. It's that part in your life where you are on the edge of your seat, where that first bead of anticipating sweat tumbles down the creases of your face. You know you're going out dramatic, taking a chance, and risking it all, but you know it's right. As the cymbals crash and break your concentration, sending your heart into a tizzy, making you feel disoriented like a lost child, you feel like running, but you don't because you want to hear, see, and feel what is next. You're expecting a loud crash, an epic fall, or a horrifying ending, because you took a chance, you brought in the trumpets, the drums, the cymbals, and tuned out the slow soft sorrow of the violin... but to your surprise, the chaos stops. The hall goes silent, the symphony motionless... and the last few notes are chirped from a combination of the flute, and a higher pitch from the violin, showing you that all is well...showing you that you've grabbed what you were reaching for... and that there is calm after the storm. The lights dim on the musicians, with only one light left, the light on the conducter, full of experience, and knowledge. The light is only on you. You are the conducter, your life is the symphony. That is my symphony... my life. Make yours beautiful.