A chorus is a cornucopia.

Lawyers, judges, doctors, and nurses.  Farmers, laborers, hairdressers and unemployed.  Teachers, professors, bankers and those enjoying a well deserved retirement.

The strong and the weak.  The brave and the fearful.  The confident and the insecure.  The popular and the unpopular.  Leaders and followers.  Those dedicated to helping the broken and those who are broken.

Married, divorced, single.  Parents and grandparents.  Children and grandchildren. Heterosexual, asexual, and metrosexual.

Optimist and pessimist.  Those with smiles and those with scowls.

The physically sound and those with infirmities.  Those with all their original equipment and those with artificial parts.

But play a single note and ask them to sing it, and all differences dissolve.  The listener cannot distinguish the apples from the squash from the pumpkin from the turkey from the corn.  The cornucopia has changed from the sharp lines and colors of a Norman Rockwell painting to a Van Gogh, with its myriad shades of subtle color and blurred lines.  It is a mysterious transformation wrapped in beauty.


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