 By Samir Shukla
Digging a hole in the ground one day on land we recently acquired, a tree root and a stone blocked the shovel. The root was wrapped around the lodged stone, both relaying an unspoken notice that I would need to work harder with the shovel in hand to finish the needed hole. I dug around the stone and poked away at the root with the tip of the shovel. Sweeping aside the dirt to pick up the rather large stone, the root, a portion of it shredded by the shovel, held its ground. Who knows how far it stretched underground, the nearest large tree was about 20 feet away. The root didn’t want to let go of its buddy, attaching itself to the thinner part of the long stone.  By Samir Shukla
It’s a Wednesday. The record, shiny and black, glistened as I looked at the songs on each side to check what I wanted to play and hear. I placed the vinyl LP on the turntable and put the needle down. I was playing this on a portable turntable, so the sound wasn’t booming, but it felt right. It sounded right. There was a bit of pop and hiss in between the songs, as a record should behave. The room felt happier. I started swaying, moving to the warm sound of analog music, it felt like a summer breeze. Music is meant to be heard in such a manner, analog, old school. |
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