We begin the third section, that trill promising wonders, and the brass launch into that melody that is faster than dreams, skipping up arpeggios and leaping octaves, Holst’s joy filling the space as they rumble like thunder, blossoming and booming as his grand sweeping passages fill the chapel with wonder and delight, and more majesty than faith, made for cathedrals. sweet on the ear and smooth on the tongue, and I lose myself in the music as it consumes me from head to toe, taking me to worlds where my failing sight doesn’t matter, for Holst’s pieces are made to be heard and felt more than seen, and as the drums roll and we build to that crescendo my breath catches as Holst takes us to the stars, and we soar up the spire, and into the great beyond, climbing higher and higher each time, and with a trill we let loose and fingers fly faster than lightning, faster than flying, faster than breath, as Holst takes us to galaxies where anything is possible, as we skip over his semiquavers and dance on crochets lighter than air and achieve the impossible, hardly daring to draw breath lest it break the spell, and I shudder in delight as that euphoric ecstasy fills my soul, music thrumming through heart and bone, and as the piece draws to a close we descend back to earth, I feel the lightning course through me, that adrenaline that tingles and buzzes, that feeling of being electric and alive, that feeling like I could do anything, happy and whole, and as the final chord erupts, and applause follows, the chapel resounds, with an echo that lingers, through memory, and time, and I wish we could do it again.
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