(SITTING ON) THE DOCK OF THE BAY by OTIS REDDING. Story by Bill Arnott.
In the lee of an old wooden dock with barnacled pilings, fishing boats bobbed at anchor.
In the lee of an old wooden dock with barnacled pilings, fishing boats bobbed at anchor.
From Strauss to the Stones, I jammed my classroom with music, matching songs and symphonies to subjects, activities, and transitions.
As the sun set, a man took a seat at a truncated keyboard. A 60-key piano that barely fitted in the space, jammed between the door and a window. With minimal fanfare he played for the few of us there.
Although mine was a record and dadās was a tape, there was no mistaking a shift in the axis that staked our two worlds.
Was it the siren song of an Ice Queen aboard their vessel that caused the sailors to turn off the echo sounderās low water depth alarm?
Together we embraced the galaxial view, climbed higher and higher. Reaffirmed choices, what got us there, advances and setbacks, every moment a soundtrack
Sailing hard for ten hours, we ploughed our way into a lee at the mouth of a river, a sailorsā safe haven for centuries.
Four strings and one player. Making things better. Alchemy. Magic, and timeless. The wonder of cello.
You couldnāt escape the voice of Gordon Lightfoot in Toronto during the 1970s. Believe me, I tried.
Stereo Storiesā branch in Canada is now officially open, thanks to the enthusiasm of Canadian writer, traveller and musician Bill Arnott.