The local classical station had a remarkable program yesterday that was well in keeping with the holiday. In counterpoint to the mountain of self-conscious kitsch that flows over Halloween, they played composers who died far too young.
It's a subtle point, that might be mistaken for gloom. From the 'Spanish Mozart' who died in 1736 barely out of his teens to a brilliant young woman that might have changed the face of the interbellum symphony had she not died of the Spanish Flu with tens of millions of others, there is loss beyond real measure.
Yet, the music lives on. Not as much as we would like, as the silence seems oppressive in the shadow of winter, yet their work outlives them. Likely it will outlive us as well.
The relationship between the living and the dead is a contentious issue, full of vulgar proclamations and all the certainty of hearsay. We are caught between two fires in the dark, and as simple a thing as the sound of strings can make all the difference in some moments.