I read David Byrne of Talking Heads fame waxing philosophical about music. I read and learn and am gratified. We have moved, it seems from music as the sounds around us to our own organization of sound full circle to music as the sound around us.
I hear the sizzle of the candle on my desk made to sizzle . . . the intermittent slap on asphalt of cars and trucks rushing from who knows where to who knows what . . . the occasional bird determined not to fly south for this is not a presage to winter or anything like it . . .
But today I wonder more about the sounds I do not know, have not heard . . . what sound does the black swift make nestled behind the waterfall?
What secret sounds do twins murmur in greeting after a day’s separation?
What sound does God hear when hands are clasped together in that moment before the prayer begins?
In what key do the winds of the Himalayas blow?
Is there harmony in the creaking and breaking of the Arctic ice?
What tempo resounds in the keening of the polar bear for its mate?
Whether I hear it or not; whether I am mindful of it or not, a symphony is happening, filling every moment in every space of this whole wide world and the keys I tap are the tiniest contributors . . . my own pizzicato contribution.
I hope The Conductor is pleased.