agonia
english

v3
 

Agonia.Net | Policy | Mission Contact | Participate
poezii poezii poezii poezii poezii
poezii
armana Poezii, Poezie deutsch Poezii, Poezie english Poezii, Poezie espanol Poezii, Poezie francais Poezii, Poezie italiano Poezii, Poezie japanese Poezii, Poezie portugues Poezii, Poezie romana Poezii, Poezie russkaia Poezii, Poezie

Article Communities Contest Essay Multimedia Personals Poetry Press Prose _QUOTE Screenplay Special

Poezii Românesti - Romanian Poetry

poezii


 
Texts by the same author


Translations of this text
0

 Members comments


print e-mail
Views: 7057 .



The museum of technology
prose [ ]

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
by [mircealupu ]

2012-05-17  |     | 



I planned to pay a visit to the museum of technology, located near a park entrance among century-old trees.
I thought that it would be nice to draw some parallels between technics and nature, then leave the place in good spirits.
I went past the museum many times but never visited it, always saying “maybe some other time”.
That day I was determined to get there and before long I was behind the wheel of my car driving toward the old part of the town where the park and the museum were located.
It didn’t take too much time to get there and I parked my car a little further to take a little walk and enjoy the mild autumn weather.
In the street, two workers from a moving company carrying a small piano, a kind of spinet, were trying to squeeze it through the small entrance of an old villa.
They were afraid not to damage the porch and were cursing the piano in loud voices.
I decided to lend a helping hand to the art in its war with the moving company and the two poor workers welcomed me.
An hour later we were in front of the owner’s apartment after having negotiated the narrow entrance and the steep staircase.
I was full of dust, most like the staircase windows and wanted to bid farewell to my colleagues in pain when the door opened.
The owner served us a tea and said that his daughter would like to play a song to thank us for our efforts. She was playing well and time flew without noticing.
I was looking through the room’s window at the nearby park whilst listening to the notes of the piano. That day maybe the gods of the technology were sleeping inside the borrows of the old trees and on the dark mirror of the lake leaves carrying the dead soul of technics were floating like ceremonial pyres. By the time the host accompanied us to the door, the museum of technology had closed.
I slowly got into my car to go home then I jumped out, went upstairs in a hurry and knocked at the door of the piano’s owner. He opened the door and much to his surprise , he saw me again in front of him.
-Would you be so kind to explain me how the piano works? I asked him.
I drove home quietly that night. As for the museum of technology, I will visit it some other day.

.  |








 
shim Home of Literature, Poetry and Culture. Write and enjoy articles, essays, prose, classic poetry and contests. shim
shim
poezii  Search  Agonia.Net  

Reproduction of any materials without our permission is strictly prohibited.
Copyright 1999-2003. Agonia.Net

E-mail | Privacy and publication policy

Top Site-uri Cultura - Join the Cultural Topsites!