Eight memories for woodwind quintet: about the train ride to the beach every summer, a story about a cow who wanted to learn to write to become famous, a glass window inside a chapel, about the land’s changes in September, a different poppy that calls out, a changing woman, near dinnertime in summer, a relentless pilgrim who travels the Camino de Santiago
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| A green train chugs along, From city to coast, its journey long, Thirty kilometers of tracks to roam, From inland hills to the seaside foam. | Passengers board with beach-bound glee, Excited chatter and children’s glee, As the train snakes through a sunny wood, The view outside is simply good. |
| A cow who longed to write, to share her stories bright, with a world that didn’t know the tales within her soul. | She’d watch the humans scribble, their pens and pencils dribble, words and phrases forming to tell of love and storming. |
| The ancient church stands tall and proud, Its walls so thick, its stones endowed With centuries of history and lore, It stands as a testament to something more. | A stained-glass window catches the light, A rainbow of colors, a beautiful sight, The sunbeams streaming through the panes, Dancing on the worn-out stones and stains. |
| September comes, summer’s end draws near Colors shift, and autumn’s hues appear The sun still shines, but with a cooler breeze A hint of change is felt among the trees | The sky seems bluer, the clouds more white As summer fades into the waning light The fields and meadows take on a golden glow As the harvest season begins to show |
| A poppy blue, rare and true, Stands amidst a field of red, A sight that is both strange and new, A wonder that fills my head. | A flower of blue, so bold and bright, Against the green it stands in might, A symbol of hope in a sea of red, A mystery that fills me with dread. |
| Marijo, a woman of 20 years old, Has a heart of gold, or so she’s told, But her temper flares up like a raging storm, Leaving others to feel quite forlorn. | She’s impulsive and unpredictable too, With mood swings that come out of the blue, One moment she’s happy, the next she’s mad, It’s hard to know which Marijo we’ll have. |
| I’m here, waiting for you As the time ticks slowly by It’s been so long since we last met And I can’t help but wonder why | The sky turns dark, the stars appear And still I wait alone My heart beats fast with every step That echoes like a stone |
| An tireless pilgrim walks the Camino, Each autumn he begins his journey, He doesn’t pray nor is he religious, But the path and its people bring him glory. | He starts his trek from the Pyrenees, And walks for days through the dusty plains, He’s joined by others on this pilgrimage, Sharing tales and laughter to ease the pains. |