Beethoven's Last Walk
The day was cold snow had fallen.
He put on his great coat and strode out into the late afternoon.
We kept an eye on him from a distance.
Some reported him thrashing the undergrowth growling
as if forcing his way through some musical conundrum
others saw him pause, turning around
as he gazed heavenward
his large head listening to sounds only he could hear.
A lark sang; he noticed its hovering silhouette;
muttering he stomped onward.
That evening he lay down and would not speak.
The sky darkened and began to thunder
strange for that time of year.
I thought of the words of Jesus:
"Lord why hast thou forsaken me?"
It seemed appropriate.
His brow furrowed
as his fingers tapped some theme
upon the bed sheets.
Then as if seeing the coda of his life
crashing like a wave onto a far shore
he raised his fist
thunder shook the house
and when we looked again
he was gone.
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