A Performance of the Sibelius Violin Concerto

She is a child of twenty or so, a beautiful woman if I were young enough to call her that. The composer must have wrote this for a girl with arms as long as a Mediterranean sunset but then also as ivory as a Nordic sky. The music opens and I sense that it will never close, just as all our love affairs play with scattered embers years after the concert had caught fire. For long moments she traps my voice in her violin a stranger makes me love again, makes me write this love poem, and recall why I could never sing like this alone, how it takes an alien love to catch the same straw in the wind - an everlasting note to be found and lost, lost and found.