An old tin drum washed upon a beach. The old tin drum may be all washed up but does it matter? What of that viewpoint of being ‘all washed up‘ ? The viewpoint of being philosophically ‘all washed up’ may be less consequential than the drum being physically washed up and rolled upon the beach.
The beach may be sandy, which is more pleasant for the drum, or the beach may be rocky and uncomfortable especially whilst being wedged between a rock and a hard place. It does not matter what is on the beach, nor the location. The drum is comfortable wherever and with whatever. The drum has completed and achieved it’s utilitarian purpose.
As the old tin drum lay on the beach, soft gentle waves rock the tired, rusted, dented and battered drum. The paint is peeling and flaking but the drum still enjoys lying in the sun.
The end is never near for the old tin drum as life continues regardless of time and tides, storms and impacts with assorted flotsam and jetsam. Floating, constantly moving as the ocean, seemingly languid.
The old tin drum experienced being handled as a drum would. Rolled around, jostled, shoved, pushed. It has felt hands caressing the once smooth, now pitted surface. The drum enjoyed being rested upon and held great pleasure as hands beat out happy, joyful rhythms and found comfort in the pulsing resonation within.
To the drum, all sounds inside and out, no matter what their form, was music.
The old tin drum knows many sounds; wind, wave, the clap of thunder, ships, machinery and so on. The sound of the human voice is comforting. Mainly calm, peaceful, rational and loving voices, this resonation is the most soothing to the drum.
Sometimes the drum felt the sound of anger and it bothered the drum as that type of resonation was uncomfortable, not quite music but, that’s life. On occasions, life is uncomfortable. Discomfort is not permanent.
The drum was once attached to another, united, and although circumstance, time and tide separated them, they remain connected by an invisible silver thread and the old tin drum forever enjoys the resounding love of love’s resonance.
The drum knows it will soon be of little use, having less utilitarian purpose other than to simply rest on the beach listening to past drumming, resonating love, and memories.
Now, the only sound that old tin drum hears is the resonating echo of the heart.
The sound of an old tin drum.
The echo of a heart remains the most pleasurable resonance.
©V L. Verdéaux 2018