Scent of spring (Restircted)

[vivian jane thornfield]

Vivian had stepped out to get some air and exercise and was now leaning her back to tree just outside the western woods. It had been a nice day. She had had all of her favorite lessons and given a first try for the mudcake she had woved to bake. Unfortunately that had tured out to be a failed experiment. She chuckled. Atleast she now knew that one should be very carefull to follow the recipe when it came to baking times.

Smoothing the hem of her usual velvet coat Vivian smelled a small fragrance of comming spring in the air. Easter was soon upon them. The thougth made her remeber all the years she had spend easter with her mother. Everything was made on the traditional way. Vivian remebered how on the first day of lent her mother gently rubbed ash to her forehead. It was a symbol of the earthly sufffering and sins. It would remind her of the tings she needed to regret. Vivian gave a small sigh. There was indeed lot to regret this year.

Quickly Vivian shrugged the thougth. Faith was thing to give hope not to destroy it. And still she hoped that there could be a way to make this less regrettable. She shook her head slowly. How silly her thoougths were.

For a moment she just studied the enviroment in silence. she could almost see the spring borning somewhere under the cold white snow. In a small voice hummed few notes of the Bach's Ave Maria.
The familiar words had a calming effect on her.
"Ave Maria gratia plena. Dominus tecum. Benedicta tu in mulieribus, et benedictus fructus ventris tui, Jesus. Sancta Maria, Mater Dei ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc et in hora mortis nostrae. Amen" Her voice broke at the high points of the ending, making her sigh. She would never master singing as well as her mother had done.

[konstantin levin buskirk]

Konstantin had been indoors for a few hours after he had woken up, and he was growing extremely restless. He had spent the first few hours after he had woken at the unusually early hour of eight in the morning stuffing his face in the dining hall and then trying to plan some lessons. At first he had settled for writing his lessons in his room, but he had quickly lost his concentration. The posters in his room, especially his newly acquired teacher’s prayer from God to teachers, had fully absorbed his attention. He had found the prayer in an obscure book of God’s messages to teachers and had immediately made a photocopy of it to place in his classroom. Today was the first day he had taped the message to his desk, and he was giddier than a schoolgirl who was experiencing her first crush. God’s words in the prayer clearly called for him to share his knowledge of God’s world with his students, so his student’s wouldn’t lose their way later on in life. He had been looking for a succinct message like this to display on his desk. The fact that he had found one in the form of both a prayer and a poem with a very discernible, syllabic rhythm brought a smile to his face. His mind became a ship wandering the open seas in God’s world.

He let his pencil fall. The resulting wooden click of his number two pencil against his desk failed to penetrate his reverie. Konstantin let his mind sail farther into a day dream and away from his lesson plans until his eye lids became stone covers over his eyes. A heavy, numbing yawn wrapped a blanket of fatigue around him. He closed his left hand in a fist and rested his head upon his fist. His head was turning into a rock that threatened to become immobile with sleep at any second. Konstantin indulged his body’s desire to reboot and regain energy for a few seconds, hoping that this brief power nap could remove the effects of his early rise out of bed. He tilted his head toward the windows on the right side of his classroom. That happened to be the most comfortable position in which Konstantin could rest his head on his hand, but it gave him a direct view of the sun embracing his classroom’s windows. He sighed loudly, wishing he was more awake so that he could enjoy the first bit of early morning sunlight he had seen since God had removed the jacket of snow covering the earth.

A few seconds passed before Konstantin rubbed his eyes and tapped his left foot distractedly on the tile floor of his classroom. It was getting increasingly difficult for him to focus on his lesson plans with the sun trying to coax him away from his desk. Boy that Mr. Sun was a sly devil if he thought he could keep Konstantin from his work! Konstantin turned back toward his lessons for a second and then let his eyes dart back to focus on the window again. Had a ray of sun just winked at him and invited him to come and play with him?! Could this be nature’s way of telling him that he was spending too much time in his adult world of teaching and responsibility and not enough time indulging the child inside him? Another bright patch of light danced across the window tantalizingly, waving its fingers seductively in Konstantin’s direction. Konstantin felt a spontaneous impulse to slack off storm his heart. He quickly gave in to his emotions and threw his lesson plans in the air in deference to his mood.

Konstantin quickly picked up his black bowler hat with a pair of goggles around it and a clock in the center of the hat. He put his hat on his head and tugged on his black leather gloves. The necklace that he was wearing, which consisted of a yellow stone in the shape of a teardrop and a circle with various cogs and odds and ends from the inside of his clock, swung gently around his neck. Konstantin rose from his desk hurriedly, not caring that he almost knocked over his chair in his haste to leave his class. He smoothed the lapels of his red velvet jacket and made sure that all eight of the cross shaped belts that cinched his jacket’s wrists were buttoned. The tightness of the belts around his wrist caused the Elizabethan style lace sleeves of his white, ruffled shirt to balloon out from under his jacket’s sleeves like hot air balloons. His shirt was already airier than a marshmallow, and restricting its puffiness only made the shirt tug pleadingly at his restricting jacket. Konstantin’s shirt begged to expand and fill the space in front of it, but Konstantin made sure it was tucked neatly into the red pants he was wearing. He snapped shut the eight cross shaped buckles across his chest and flattened the jacket’s black collar. A little ruffled kerchief cascaded down Konstantin’s neck from an opening in the middle of his collar. There was a square panel with four gold buttons on a smooth, soft patch of red velvet that stuck out over the belt around his pants.

The belt that Konstantin was wearing around his waist was the same belt he had worn outside in the snow during the winter. It contained a bicycle wheel, two patches, one with the virgin and child and the other with a group of small people staring at several large angles, and some other trinkets. The other items consisted of a metal heart with wheels and springs, a key, and an organ pipe. As for his shoes Konstantin had made sure they were black, chunky platform shoes that were of an outrageously inappropriate style for a teacher to wear to class. He had made sure they had a thick rubber sole, gear detailing around the three belts stretching across the boots, and an hour glass dangling from one of the belts. Just thinking back on that reason for having picked his shoes made him release a booming laugh into the air. Now that he thought of it that was the same reason he had picked a pair of red velvet pants with black stripes to wear. He had wanted to elicit as many odd stares and confused conversations as he could throughout the day. Konstantin had thought that would make up for having chosen to spend the day writing lesson plans. After having spent time working on some plans he realized that staying indoors hadn’t been the best way to accomplish that goal.

He pulled open the window to let the first faint, earthy smells of spring freshen the stale air in his class. Konstantin then strolled leisurely out of his classroom, letting his bicycle wheel chirp mechanical notes of music as it swayed into the trinkets around it. Although tired the traces of a smile tugged at Konstantin’s face. The music was pumping him with a bit of energy. It wasn’t enough energy to send him whistling down the hall, but it did insert a twinkle of happiness into his brown eyes.

Konstantin pulled open the double doors to Mille – Feuille’s entrance ten minutes later, having taken his time to stare at everything around him on his way out. He could feel the first bits of spring seep into the walls of the school, which was making the school whisper with excitement and the first stirrings of new spring life. If he had been more awake he might have noticed a distinctly humbling aura to the school and its casual acceptance of the rebirth of God’s world. When Konstantin finally got outside the vibrant spring colors of the earth snapped him awake. He stood for a few minutes with his mouth agape in respectful acknowledgment of the landscape painting that was unfolding before him in a series of realistic brush strokes. Flower buds were pushing through the ground with persistence. Trees swayed happily back and forth in the cool, spring breeze that cooled their roots. All of the architecture from the spitting fountain to the rose maze was waking up to greet the arrival of spring. At this rate the artist would have to add a new dot of color to his painting every day!

A revitalizing gust of life surged through Konstantin like air. He took a deep breath and sniffed his surroundings. The aroma around him smelt like lingering traces of dew, bits of new life, and warm sunlight. Konstantin was glad that he had let the sun pull him outside. He raised his arms toward the heavens and tried to wrap his arms around the bright, sunny, blue sky that seemed to come straight out of a Salvador Dali painting. There was something so freeing about being around new life and experiencing the cycle of rebirth that Konstantin wanted to give nature a hug for making him feel so good. Instead Konstantin let his fatigue blow off in chunks like dust off an old book. The pace at which he was walking also increased until he found himself heading toward the western woods. There was no reason for him not to go to the woods, since he had never been there and the weather was so fine that even the woods had lost the threatening, dangerous edge that normally clung to them.

When Konstantin neared the woods he heard the warbling, innocent strains of a woman trying to maintain the steady, clear sound of Bach’s famous “Ave Maria.” She wasn’t a horrible singer and she was certainly doing a wonderful job for having chosen such a difficult song. In Konstantin’s opinion she still had a lot of work to do, and she needed to stop lowering her voice every time she took a breath. Aside from that Konstantin rather appreciated the song she was singing. It wasn’t every day Konstantin got to hear a woman determinedly sing her way through one of his favorite classical songs with such an obvious attempt to retain the song’s ethereal, stately quality. Moved by the girl’s performance Konstantin burst into the “Ave Maria’s” opening refrains, raising his voice until it produced the high, passionate soprano notes required. He let his emotions heighten the story Bach was telling with each sweet, somber note that parted his lips. Konstantin continued singing as he approached the girl, making sure to pull in his diaphragm and stand straight. This was the only way he could produce the pure, angelic notes needed to give the song the hopeful quality it possessed. His voice started in a low whisper and rose delicately, dropping at certain points to sound like the epitome of someone hoping for a better life. There was such a clarity and sweetness to the music that he produced that he had no trouble raising his voice for the triumphant release of energy and happiness that occurred in the middle of the song. The whole song came to a dynamic close when his voice lowered and faded away like the dying notes of a wind chime.

He barely noticed the blond haired girl in front of him until he had to stop walking to avoid hitting her. While singing Konstantin eyed her stately clothes, her prim, neat appearance, and her milky white skin that appeared to be as soft as honey. If she was out here singing in honor of the sun, which Konstantin wanted to do at some point during the day, he wouldn’t blame her. There was a lot to sing about on this fine spring day.

[vivian jane thornfield]

As the man singing Ave Maria approached, Vivian felt a sting of shock go up her spine and a fain blush rushing to her cheeks. She had never meant for anyone to hear her singing. he was well aware that her voice was less than perfect and so she preferred to let it remain unheard. The shock of being discovered forced her feet to move and she hid behind the tree she was leaning against.

As the mans voice rose to the passionate end Vivian realized that his voice was superb making her humiliation even more deep. I shall never dare to sing again. She blushed a bit more and sighed deeply. The mans voice was like angels singing to celebrate such beautiful sunlight. Vivian thougth that her voice must have sounded like a sparrow trying to be a nightingale.

As a child Vivian had always hummed something, and sometimes her mother had taught her some songs. But those times had past long since. Mother had lost her singing voice and stopped singing all together. Vivian quickly shook these thougths of. It wasn't the time to bethinking of such things. She grasped her bag tigthly hoping that her rosary was in her hand to calm her down. She took a deep breath and peeked from behind the tree to see if the man was still there.

[konstantin levin buskirk]

“The Song of Solomon 2:11 – 2:12: ‘For, lo, the winter is past; The rain is over and gone; The flowers appear on the earth; The time of the singing [of birds] is come, And the voice of the turtle – dove is heard in our land.’”

He had stopped singing a few seconds ago and let the Bible verse spring forth from inside him, because he felt the words were a glorious representation of the joy the “Ave Maria” had poured in to his heart. Konstantin wanted God’s words to capture the revitalizing energy and spirit of the earthy smells and cool breezes that were stirring the earth awake with their soft fingers. He thought this tribute to Mother Nature’s first appearance in her spring finery would coax the blond haired girl out from behind the tree she was using as a barrier between herself and him. There had to have been a reason the girl had been outside letting God fill her soul with the first rays of spring warmth that were spreading His love across His land. The rainbow of colors breathing their energy into the earth surrounding the Academy had pulled him outside into God’s kingdom; each burst of life that wafted up from the Kelly green grass and the wise trees around him spread God’s joy throughout his soul. He couldn’t be sure if the same desire that had pulled him outside was pushing the girl to remain outdoors, but she didn’t look unhappy to be listening to nature sing in celebration of another year to come. In fact, she looked so surprised at being discovered singing along with the birds that were signaling God’s awakening of the earth with a stroke of his ethereal brush that she couldn’t look him in the face.

Konstantin didn’t know why she couldn’t continue singing in deference to the magnificent revival painting appearing before her on the blank canvas that was Mille – Feuille Academy. Only the slightest bit of snow remained to remind anyone who chanced to step outside about the winter wardrobe that God had recently shed in favor of his brighter, daintier spring clothing. Looking about the bright painting that comprised God’s land, with dots of fragile flowers lighting up the horizon like a faint blush spreading across Mother Nature’s cheeks, Konstantin smiled. He felt like a buck that wanted to dance and kick its merry way across the earth and reunite itself with the world of green life it had left behind months ago. The world was a vineyard in blossom and Konstantin intended to reap the rewards of God’s love that were sprouting up around him in bountiful clusters of gold, rainbow, and green life. He turned his head toward the bright blue sky, which was the crowning glory of God’s painting, shut his eyes, and held his arms out in straight lines. Light walked across the closed lids of his eyes and drew his spirit closer to God. He felt the voice of spring echo through the birds and through the sighing trees around him. All of the plants and animals quietly breathing around him pushed him into a reflective trance in which he felt his spirit hum with the refreshing fruit of spring’s bounteous beauty. Now Konstantin couldn’t help but to call out to the girl behind the tree so that she might join him in watching God shake the sleep of winter from his bleary eyes.

“Dear cherub, it is time to let your soul be filled with the voice of spring. As I stand here enshrouded in the sun’s rays I cannot help but feel God’s rejuvenating love flow through me after a winter in which God kept his love hidden so that only the devout could access it. I am stepping on the canvas of God’s kingdom and I am watching the master artist coax color onto Mother Nature’s pale face. He is teaching the world to sing about the love they feel toward the earth that nurtured them and helped them grow. I see from the wave of the smallest flower in the breeze God casts down upon his world to refresh them after a day of toil that no one should be ashamed to reap the love God heaps upon them. Even those tiny flowers don’t break under the breeze that God sends them, so why should I become overwhelmed when God sends more love my way than he normally does?

After a winter in which mankind had to keep God’s love in mind and remind themselves how it feels to be loved from above, God is reminding me that I should feast upon the love he is freely giving me in this time of rebirth. For when it comes time to head back into winter’s emotionless embrace it will be this love, this spring love, that stays with us to keep us in God’s kingdom. For God’s Kingdom is a place that only the devout can enter year round, for God does not hold our hands through each trial and tribulation he sends us in the winter and summer. We have to learn from God’s sayings when they come to us, like the breeze that comes to these tiny flowers, and drink from His wisdom. If we do not drink we go thirsty. And if we go thirsty we shrivel like a flower that is foolish enough to shun small drops of water that come its way because the drops are not big enough to satisfy its needs. None of God’s children should be beggars, because God’s words, no matter how small, should be enough to get us through the dry seasons in our lives. So now, in this spring where God has chosen to let His love flood the earth with the smells of spring and the gorgeous cries of the turtle - dove, let us rejoice in His love. Let us sing to His glory. Every person should sing, even those who think they are weak of voice and who are too meek to let their voice show their love. God thinks of all people as his people. So let no one think he is an outcast and is undeserving of love. Love comes in as many forms as you can see God’s messages in the world around you. So just sing out in celebration of the kind of love you feel in your heart at this moment. And let God hear the love seep out of you in to His heart. He will love your honesty and will reward you with His love.”

The love that Konstantin felt toward God pulsed out of his soul in a simple William Wordsworth poem called “Lines Written in Early Spring.” He sang the words to the tune of a viola composition written by Geoffrey Gordon, “Lines Written in Early Spring,” that was running like a babbling brook through his head. The music cleared his head of the fatigue that had turned it into a useless block of heavy stone in his classroom and opened his heart to the music washing over him. He was now calling out to God to continue waking up the world around him and injecting coloring it with his love. The first notes of his song were frenzied and passionate, as if he was desperately vying for God’s attention. Konstantin’s notes were pure and clean, but they jumbled together because they came out of his mouth so quickly that they bumped into each other before they sent their song toward heaven. This was an opening style characteristic of Gordon’s music, in which each note bumped its head against the other notes around it in its quest to become the center of attention throughout the song. It also represented the multitude of sounds and images that had filled Wordsworth’s head with the glory of spring; so many scents and stimuli had attacked Wordsworth’s brain that his poem had written itself before he had touched his pen to a piece of paper. This was the exact style in which Konstantin sang Wordsworth’s poem. Konstantin’s words came out before he had time to analyze how appropriate they sounded paired with the music he was singing. His voice rose and fell in a flurry of crescendos and scales that sounded like little sparrows and forest animals chirping animatedly. Konstantin’s love to God was emerging in the form of a song that gave voice to a beautiful spring day.

OOC: Here is the poem and the song that Konstantin sings at the end of my post.

Wordsworth’s “Lines Written in Early Spring”: www.bartleby.com/145/ww130.html

Geoffrey Gordon’s composition “Lines Written in Early Spring”: www.youtube.com/watch?v=KVbLxuer0zk

[vivian jane thornfield]

Vivian studied the man closely.He was a bit too old to be a student and his singing skills would pioint out that he maybe was the music teacher. Also from his attire she interepted him to be a christian. How devout, she couldn't tell.
Man's attire intrigued Vivian. It was clearly steampunk with some strong christian symbols. Also the cross belts told that story. Vivian had never seen such flamboyance in chistianity, even with her own catholic branch known of it's decorative ways.

It was when the man addressed her that she felt yet another wave of embarassament and pulled her head back behind the tree. Did he just call me a cherub? she wondered flustered and shy. Letting the mans words flow through her she could not but feel some serenity though it was not her familiar latin. Speking of God eased her spirtit smoothing the spiritual feathers gently. But still she could not sing.

"I can not join you sir. My voice is not worthy." Outing this thougth made her feel utterly uncomfortable. Vivian stepped to from behind the tree keeping her eyes turned to the ground. " i only sang because I know those words perfectly. They are written to my heart since my earliest memories."

[konstantin levin buskirk]

The sound of forest animals and happy birds, which Konstantin was using his voice to create, slowly died off. All of the animals retreated back inside of Konstantin’s throat. Konstantin wrapped up Gordon’s song with a haunting flurry of sharp notes that ended with an abrupt, shrill shriek. They were sad and remorseful, as if they were constantly aware of how soon the spring beauty of the world around them would end and bring with it the first dry heaves of summer heat. The notes twisted themselves through the forest before Konstantin sharply choked them into an abrupt silence. It seemed like Gordon had only intended for the listener to get a short glimpse of the fear God’s creatures felt at the notion of having to search for God’s love in the summer. In typical Gordon style the end of the song nearly ambushed Konstantin; he was barely prepared for it and just managed to get the final notes of the song out before the song bumped its way to a close.

For a few seconds Konstantin let the refrains of Wordsworth’s poem wind through his brain. White air seeped out of his body and created a halo of glowing energy around Konstantin. His love for God was beginning to surface around him in the form of an almost palpable shroud of devotional fervor. A mask of serenity blew through his body and left him calm and in tune with his environment. He leaned down to smell one of the purple flowers that was struggling to grow near his feet and smiled. Konstantin was inhaling the essence of God’s words through the scent of a tiny flower, and his rediscovery of how even the smallest aspects of God’s world could teach him to feel His love was refreshing. He knew that if he could love God through His creations that he could also find a way to express his undying gratitude toward the small joys and moments that made his life bearable. It was funny how things as small as a flower kept him grounded and reminded him to be thankful for having access to God’s world.

When Konstantin heard the girl’s words convey her inability to give thanks in song for witnessing the miracle of God’s spring rebirth, he smiled sadly and shook his head. This girl sorely misunderstood God’s ways if she thought He would turn someone away who was singing His praise.

“God does not discriminate among his followers as to whose voice is worthy enough to sing his praises. Every one of his devout followers can sing, for God respects the meek and humble souls in his flock and praises their songs even more than the songs of his haughtier, prouder followers. As Isaiah says in 57:15, ‘or thus says the high and lofty one who inhabits eternity, whose name is Holy:’ ‘I dwell in the high and holy place, and also with him who is of a contrite and humble spirit, to revive the spirit of the humble, and to revive the heart of the contrite.’ You are admitting that you are meek, and for that God will praise you and reward you greatly. He knows that your meekness and your humble behavior is how you display your fidelity toward him. There is no shame in being meek, for only the Lord’s true followers will place the Lord’s demands above their own needs. Fidelity of this strength appears most strongly in the meek and those who are willing to be His humble servants. You know when to be contrite and when to feel guilty for your sins. If you repent for your sins and remind God of your loyalty He will listen to your meek voice and He will love every word you sing. The words that you sang are words that you know by heart, just like God’s followers know God’s words and teachings by heart. Do not be ashamed to sing what you know, because a follower of God is not afraid to practice God’s words. You are a follower of God and you must fall back on the ways in which you most often express your devotion to God. If you feel that should come about through music that you are comfortable singing then so be it. God accepts all music as his music and He will not mock you for singing songs that move your soul. He will reward you for knowing how to give voice to your emotions.”

Konstantin stretched out his hand and offered it to the girl with his palm stretched up toward the sky. He wanted to pull her away from the tree and into God’s warm embrace so that she might start singing the song she had been singing when he first arrived at the tranquil forest.

“My name is Konstantin Levin Buskirk and I am the music teacher here at Mille – Feuille Academy. I am also a devout follower of the Lord Jesus Christ. Please take my hand and step forth into God’s world. You have nothing to hide from the Lord that He won’t accept in some way. The Lord is a very forgiving man, and He will not give up a member of his flock to the sin and evil temptations that pull at his believers’ fickle heartstrings. God works to keep his flock happy and living lives free of sin. Come here and rid yourself of your fears, oh humble, worthy cherub.”

[vivian jane thornfield]

Vivian istened to the song's last notes with amazement and wonder. Thisman was a master singer and nothing less. His voice was like started out as soft as a breeze during those warm sring days an grew in to a storm of such magnitude that Vivian couldn't simply step away. She was equally unable to join him.

As the man started speaking Vivian realized that he was a protestant. They did not believe in confession. How long had it been since Vivian had confessed her sins to a priest? During Christmas she had not gotten a chance. "I know Lord is forgiving. But I have not confessed in almost a year now." Vivian brushed her hair back with one elegant movement. And the way the thing were looking she couldn't confess until the mess with her fiancée was finished. After all her father had known her priest for who knows how many years.

"However as you are a teacher, sir, if you should ask me to sing I would.I am a student after all." Vivian gave out a small smile and stepped toward mr Buskirk. "Though Ave Maria as a song migth be a bit ut of my reach even if I know the words like I know my own hand."