Death (and life) and the maiden

Somewhere in this picture of a Winchester, VA playground, believe it or not, is a tiny sliver of Cleo. And somewhere in this cluttered view, as well, is a sense of risk that reminded me of musical compositions that wander from from their home, and then, finally, return.

Here's what I have in mind. The Wikipedia entry on Schubert's Quartet no. 14 (Death and the Maiden) is a nice example of what the Web, at its best, can offer. Alongside brief excerpts of the actual music, the authors parse the composition in clean, appropriate language. For instance, take their summary of the final passage of the second movement: "In the fifth variation, the second violin takes up the theme, while the first violin plays a sixteenth-note arpeggiated motif, with the cello playing the triplets in the bass. The variation grows from pianissimo to fortissimo, then again fades and slows in pace, finally returning to a restatement of the theme - this time in G major.

And here's why I have it in mind. For most of her little life, Cleo's been a relatively careful girl. I wouldn't say that she's unadventurous, or unimaginative - but she's never been the sort of kid who clambers out onto the diving board, unaccompanied, or who stuffs a fistful of black mushrooms into her mouth. And she still isn't. But on Saturday, she was ready to play, and to play on her terms. At one playground, she joined two older girls on a whirling playground wheel, racing to try to keep up with them and laughing as she announced that she was dizzy as the sky wheeled above her. A few hours later, in Winchester, she raced towards the tower you see above, and then, pausing, noticed that I was standing, watching, at the edge of the playground. 'You don't have to stand there, Dad,' she told me. 'Go sit on a seat.'

All right, then. And so I sat as she disappeared into a sea of kids. And sat. And wondered if, and when, she might return. Shouts to our right. A man with tattoos covering his entire arm. A car leaving, suddenly, from the parking lot. No sign of her. Should I get up, and find her? I was about to, when she reappeared through the grillwork of the tower, all smiles. And was then off again, to race across the small suspension bridge and gawk at the slide. Variations on variations: a composition. I smiled. Another car drove off; a blindfolded child under a distant tree swung wildly at a pinata. And then, once more, Cleo reappeared, tottering towards me in the stride that implies that she's done with something. Finally returning to me, from the world: in a different key now perhaps, but home, momentarily, nonetheless.