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  • It made me sort of sad, overhearing that conversation.

    "Oh my god, like, Mrs. Harlow makes us sing the stupidest songs!"

    "Yeah, we should totally sing, like, new music."

    "Totally. It's like she gets her songs from, like, the 15th century!"

    "Hey, what if Justin Bieber was our music teacher?"

    "Oh god! That would be creepy...but at least we could actually sing cool songs."

    "Yeah, I mean, who wants to sing about different kinds of wind?"

    "Not me"

    "Ughh, It's like 'gentle winds', 'bad winds', 'breezy winds'...I'm like, who cares?"

    "Yeah, I was falling asleep by the second page."

    "Totally."

    And me, I am quietly sketching a prop set up on the table (it was art class), listening to the conversation, shaking my head. That day I had been in the middle of a pretty bad cold, and my voice having been stolen and replaced by a frog, I had no part in the conversation. My voice sounded like gravel; and I didn't want to embarrass myself. Still it was one of those conversations where you are just the person tuning in, but only when you are walking away do you think of what you should have said; but it's too late. Like a bat swung two minutes after the pitch. The baseball has bounced away, out of sight.
    But I was a part of that conversation in my head. I answered everybody mentally, hoping my telepathic connection was clear. What made me sad was how such beautiful music could be taken for granted at such high levels. Songs these days are all about love, love, love. All directed at the youth. But not just formal love, eighther. Brake-ups and teenagers and dumping one lover after another are a nice chunk of it, too. What can you do? It's modern music! Real music to the ears of the youth.
    But if they just spent a day listening to the quiet, unpredictable tunes of the winds, the storming winds, the twirling winds, and the gently flirting winds, they may change their minds. They may see why Mrs. Harlow went to such extreme levels and chose such a 'dumb song'. Perhaps it was to bring forth the shy music of the winds, rustling through the leaves, howling down your chimney; a break from the consant drumming beat of modern life.
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