Oslo Solo

For Maren and Jeremy -thanks for sharing your music.

There is water, and there is water.
There is water casting a shadow over water.
There is water over the top of the mountain, and there is water beneath the mountain as well.

A little bird pecks the ice: a single Gray Jay -Perisoreus Canadiensis- jabbing his head, cracking the ice, drinking a solid body of sweet, luscious, frozen water.

The shadow that solid water casts over the liquid one under it; and then: the shadow that clouds cast over the frozen lake.

Blue, but also green, with hints of reddish brown and the neverending white water refusing to melt into the blue lake. Like a virgin keeping her own mountain for her first man, her wedding night. But we all know those tracks over her bright slant are not new: they have been there for a while. And they will never disappear, so our virgin cries, her tears come rolling down the mountain, and become shadows of water over water.

Because there is water, but then there is also water: the saliva of a sax player traveling fast and urgently towards the opening at the end of the squirmy tunnel, the turns and the openings, the keys.

There is, also, the sweat from the round buttocks of a piano player, moving, squirming, too, her pelvis bones rubbing the bench. Her white dress climbing over her legs, her young legs open and tense. And there will be water.