The beat- steady, unchanging, like waves pounding on the shore.
The rhythm- seemingly easy, but not quite, like the way birds fly in the air
The harmony- lilting and supportive, like shy plain flowers in a garden of roses
The melody- flowing, feeling touching the depths of the heart, like the way children laugh and play
The passion- present through every bow stroke, every key pressed down, every note blown

Each section in sync with another as the piece rages, comforts, mourns
The players concentrate, but are pulled in
The music has a life of its own.

Down below, the audience, too, is bewitched
Every note, every rest, every sound pulling at their heart.

The conductor no long controls anything
Each movement is a conduit for the flow
Each wave of the baton is merely a signal
A signal to unleash more power.

And then, the finale
Grand, like the palace of Versailles
Echoing, like the last bits of a dream
Pure, a single not hovering in the air.

Silence ensues
Each person, player and audience alike, too caught up in the movements to see the end.

But the ending is felt
Immediately the passion, the purity, the emotions leave behind a cold void

Leaving everyone longing for more.

This is the symphony of strings
The cooperation, the will
The power of music.