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The weight that silence keeps
They walked beneath the street scaffolding like ghosts rehearsing memory—each step a soft percussion against the bones of the city, against the gooseflesh of late Fall.
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The strange mercy of being alive
The coffee cooled untouched, the light shifted, and in that small room of metal and shadow, she felt the strange mercy of being alive: unnoticed, unneeded, but undeniably here.
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Music On Tippy Toes
Muted diminished thirds wobbled over open fifths. She pointed to the center of the guitar and said: the music is there inside, and it comes out on its tippy toes to dance in the light.
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When sound leaks into silence
Music, it can be said, travels on the shoulders of pebbles dropped into ponds of still water.
