![\"verse](\"https:\/\/riverwriter.ca\/wordcurrents\/wp-content\/uploads\/2014\/01\/versesq-150x150.png\")
<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"Inside the brick exterior of the sprawling waterfront building
\nis all wood: support structure, floors, walls\u2014all huge all
\nold: beams and planks, columns and frames. The floors tend
\nto creak when you walk on them, or even just when
\nthey feel like it. There are scars of the past memos nailed to pillars,
\nheavy equipment dragged across the floor; the wood still
\nresonates with the faint echo of spinning and weaving machines
\nthat now labour on the other side of the world. Where there was once
\na driving need to process cotton and ship it out, now there remains
\nthe question of what comes next.<\/p>\n
The graceful gleaming cello groans its sweet dreamscape
\nin a language that the floors walls and beams of the building
\ntake up and retell, bringing the listeners into the soul of the music,
\nsurrounding each, taking each heart inside the cello so that
\nevery note expresses itself in colors, flavors, aromas, massaging
\nmemory until it is persuaded to see again the transcendental
\ncelestial spheres, singing in orbit around our pre-birth earth.<\/p>\n
We once built a theatre in Cornwall’s Weave Shed; I hope we can use it again: the acoustics are perfect, and so are a lot of other things. ( #991) Continue reading <\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"