THE OLD TIN DRUM

An old tin drum washes up on a beach.  The old tin drum may be all washed up but does it matter? What of that viewpoint?  The viewpoint is even less consequential than the fact that the drum has washed 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 its utilitarian purpose and achieved what it was meant to, but a question remains.  Is the drum fulfilled.

As the old tin drum lay on the beach, the 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.

  

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The old tin drum has experienced being handled as a drum would.  Rolled around, jostled, shoved, pushed and felt hands caressing the once smooth surface which is now pitted.  The drum enjoyed being rested upon and also held great pleasure as hands beat out happy, joyful rhythms as the drum found comfort of the pulsing resonation within.

To the drum, all sounds inside and out, no matter what their form, was music.

The old tin drum is very familiar 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, it was the resonation that is 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.

The drum was once attached to another, united, and although time and tide separated them, they remain connected by an invisable silver thread and the old tin drum will forever enjoy the resounding love of love’s resonance.

The drum knows it will soon be of little use and have less utilitarian purpose but to simply rest on a 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.

Verde