One tiny stream cuts a path
of blue and green and sound
through a bleak, colorless silence
The ash itself might as well still be hanging in the air
Marshes and ponds
and a system of muddy paths
Leafy and dense
I could be walking through
the garden of a friend
upstate, back home
Burnt orange scrub and
butterflies with fractured wings
Wispy, withered branches
against a grey sky
you would think
"It might as well be winter"
One season of relief
which we did not deserve
does not make up
for a lifetime of neglect
Am I stepping through soot
or silt, or sand, or something else?
Do you want to head back?
Is there gas in the car?
We should just keep moving
But if you find it hard to carry on
you can always find a place to rest
under the shade of scorched trees.
Program Note
The shade of scorched trees began as the text which the ensemble recites throughout the piece, which determines its pacing and is amplified by the music that accompanies it. I wrote the text while on a hike near Kirkwood, California where I encountered a section of forest that had been burned to the ground by wildfire. Standing on that exposed land felt surreal, especially since it was surrounded by lakes and lush growth left over from one of the most fruitful winters in recent memory.
I wrote the music over the course of a single weekend. The text was done before I finished the hike, and I had already began thinking of the textures, sonorities, and events that would color it as I was writing. So when I finally sat at the piano a few months later, it was as if the entire piece was already written in my mind.
There are lots of opportunities for decision-making on the parts of the performers, and that is intentional. I have always valued the relationship between music and text, and I wanted to allow for the recitation of the poem and the performance of the music to inform one another organically.
November 2023. Reno, Nevada.
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Sarah Coyl and Benjamin Porter, violins
Miguel Ángel González Sáenz, viola
Eileen Brownell, cello