coney island rhapsody
by Dr. Mel Waldman

Meandering a land of dreams

     Listen to the sweeping, roaring waves rushing to shore, Coney Island waves surging and singing a Coney Island rhapsody in red, white, and blue Americana, soothing but tumultuous waves making vanishing traces across the sprawling, vacant beach, emptied of most human and non-human life but filled with mystical and metaphysical objects of beauty and wisdom hidden in ordinary things strewn about the winter landscape, a dreamscape of nature and rapturous revelations. Listen to the glorious waves.

     Listen to the fierce Coney Island waves, flowing ecstatically to shore, celebrating Americana in patriotic majesty beneath a pristine snowstorm, the silky snow calling to earth and embracing omnipotent waves that vanish on the vacant beach—listen to the whirling, swirling waves.

     Listen to the long, lonely waves of winter rushing relentlessly to shore in a jazzy, Coney Island rhapsody, an undiscovered Gershwin melody celebrating Americana, the great music of the heavens flying magically to earth, surging and singing a celestial masterpiece for mortals. Listen to the Coney Island rhapsody, a composition of unparalleled beauty, performed ferociously for an abandoned universe.

     In winter the Coney Island beach is barren and deserted. It seems to stretch endlessly, moving east and west. Surreal symphonic waves rush gloriously to shore. No humans hear this unearthly music now. Perhaps at sunset or after midnight or sunrise tomorrow someone will stroll across the pristine beach and listen and dream. I pray some stranger discovers the Coney Island rhapsody. Must we wait for summer to hear the holy waves and their celestial rhapsody?

     After midnight I drift into a deep sleep and dream of Coney Island. I take the Q train to the last stop in Brooklyn. I wander towards the beach but I’m soon blinded by a heavy snowstorm. A vast whiteness covers my being. Yet distantly I hear enchanting music compelling me. Suddenly I’m a stranger trudging across the white beach, listening to a Coney Island rhapsody.

     I listen. I vanish in the snow. In winter, tethered to a musical composition, I transcend my earthly existence and become one with the waves and the beach. I vanish.