Emma saw a man coming toward the house. It had turned dark and she could not see who it was before he was standing next to her, it turned out to be her farm-hand, he had forgotten to pick up his days pay. Franz was lying lifeless on the path. For a moment they both were standing dumbstruck in silence weighing their choices what to do, how to carry Franz in the house. It was a moonless night. Mist started to…..
Dusk. The tall trees along the trail cast shadows on the the path leading to the house. Emma leaned over Franz, checked his pulse, it was weak, he had been wounded, blood was seeping from the cuts, his face was covered with dirt. Emma ran to the house for some water. It turned darker by the minute. She rushed back, could hardly see his wounds, Emma started to tremble as she started to wash his face. Emma’s life had been filled…..
Franz Lang had been walking for days, he was searching for happiness, for a chance to follow his dream. He had left behind the acrimonious existence and looked forward to making a life for himself filled with happiness and adversity. Franz followed his intuition and headed north. The weather would change abruptly. For hours it rained and would soak his cloths, then sun would beat down on him, drying them, he was hungry, but never lost his stoicism, he would…..
Just the other day Lara had found a notebook in the attic, it was on the bottom of an old suitcase, it had yellowed and a little crumpled. On one of the sheets she saw the name Franz Lang written, Lara tried to paste it together, maybe it would make sense who that man was and why she should have brought it with her, she became curious and wanted to find out he is was and why would she actually had it.Who is Franz Lang? Maybe she will finally…..
I have been trying so hard to bury this chapter of the dire days in my life, but have not had the strength to “dig a hole deep enough” to do so. I will filter my experience through the eyes of little Lara, just like I did in my book. I will help Lara to ” dig the hole deep” enough in hope to be able to plant beautiful flowers on of the mount.—-The different sounds of the war had…..
My memory of the agonizing drumbeat during the journey of my plight in WW ll never seem to fade. I tried to write them down,but had to stop, they became too emotional, yet I felt that the story had to be heard, had to make people realize and remind of the Nazi odious tyranny that swept across my country, Latvia, and rest of Europe, how it disparaged all people on their “March of Death.” The WW ll has ended decades…..
It had rained for a few days; my garden looked lovely and so welcoming. Sitting on the patio I watched the sun go down, casting its golden rays through the majestic cedars, the flowers spread lovely fragrance over the whole garden. Dusk was approaching with its magical tranquility. A flock of Canada Geese were squawking so loud, while flying north, supposedly trying to find new feeding ground, I love these birds, they always seem so organized, so protective of their young, so dignified……
Many years have gone by, many experiences added, many lessons learned. I keep counting my blessings for having had strength, never loosing faith and having had the courage to follow my dream. It has been a lone walk, many hurdles to overcome; I never felt lonely, I was so blessed having my music. I still remember the pain, the dreadful scenes of the WW ll, it devoured all that was dear to me, my three pianos, my books, my home, my brother,…..
I had been sitting on a pile of books for hours, watching the clock that was in no hurry to move faster, maybe I wanted it to stop, the resonant, monotonous ticking reminded me of the war, the emptiness, the sorrow,the pain. My room was empty with the exception of the grand piano, that a person, whom I never met, had lent me to practice on while I was residing in Denmark, and my books, my wonderful books. They had…..
The sun was shining in the blue sky, few clouds were sailing eastward, a few seagulls were flying toward the bay. I felt happy. The war was over, I lived in a nice place, arranged by the Danish Red Cross, cared by two loving people. I had a room all by myself, a book-case for my books; I will draw a metaphor for describing my bed, the blanket was like a white cloud, the pillow like a big snowball, I…..
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