Lumberjack Juneau Analysis
Near the heart of a wood, every day at noon, the incessant song of a soft fiddle pervaded. Juneau played it, fiddling his own song. Although he was the son of a lumberjack, he loved to play the fiddle. Juneau's aunt gave it to him. Rather, she wrote in her will that he would inherit her fiddle as a gift. It was only posthumous to her life that this part of her will was fulfilled. Written to atone for ghastly works, the song he played ranked as a favorite. He enjoyed playing that song, as he did it seemingly for the birds, because of the intricate diapason after the culmination of it. The listening birds would complete the song on their own with a beautiful, luscious piece. The birds' voices exhibited a tonal beauty that completely
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He worked for music more than anything, though he knew it would do nothing to defray the costs of life. In working for music, Juneau diligently completed all sorts of chores. He knew he would someday supplant his father, and he knew that his music was nothing to help out his impoverished family. Nevertheless, he chose to resemble a tenacious, obstinate mule refusing to do its work. He'd spent too much time with his aunt, his mother said. She was the perfect mix of sardonic humor and prim mannerisms.
"Have you been playing that fiddle o' yours?" Charlene probed. Juneau had no credible alibi in this court case. "Yes," he said reluctantly.
Juneau wanted to avoid the admonish he received. Consequently, the word taunted him, seeming to laugh at him as it floated through the air.
"Go cut some firewood, then come and help your sister prepare supper." Juneau was obedient and followed the command, but wished he really hadn't. All he wanted to do was play his fiddle throughout eternity. Alas, that was a far-fetched fantasy that would never come to be. The task currently before him was simple; however, there was a superfluous amount of wood to chop. So, the matter seemed to slowly equate itself to bondage. And though he felt as a toil-slave, his work wasn't
He worked for music more than anything, though he knew it would do nothing to defray the costs of life. In working for music, Juneau diligently completed all sorts of chores. He knew he would someday supplant his father, and he knew that his music was nothing to help out his impoverished family. Nevertheless, he chose to resemble a tenacious, obstinate mule refusing to do its work. He'd spent too much time with his aunt, his mother said. She was the perfect mix of sardonic humor and prim mannerisms.
"Have you been playing that fiddle o' yours?" Charlene probed. Juneau had no credible alibi in this court case. "Yes," he said reluctantly.
Juneau wanted to avoid the admonish he received. Consequently, the word taunted him, seeming to laugh at him as it floated through the air.
"Go cut some firewood, then come and help your sister prepare supper." Juneau was obedient and followed the command, but wished he really hadn't. All he wanted to do was play his fiddle throughout eternity. Alas, that was a far-fetched fantasy that would never come to be. The task currently before him was simple; however, there was a superfluous amount of wood to chop. So, the matter seemed to slowly equate itself to bondage. And though he felt as a toil-slave, his work wasn't