In the movie, “August Rush,” a young musical prodigy says, “There’s music everywhere. You just have to listen.”
wind chimes singing on the screen porch
On this sunny Sunday, two acoustic guitars pick an old folk melody on the stereo. The soft popping percussion of a fire flickers in the fireplace. The sounds of moving air surround me. The burning wood releases heat and gas, which sound like crisp sheets flapping in the wind. The furnace blowing hot air (thankfully in this cold) is a droning white noise underneath everything, like the fundamental note bowed on an upright bass. Outside, the wind is frisky and determined, randomly roaring around the house like a speeding train. Wind chimes jingling on the screen porch are like a bell tree playing with the wind. Icy snow dropping off the roof onto the deck is like the rhythmic scraping of a guiro. My breath inhaling and exhaling establishes the basic pulse.
In – out – scrape – flap – in – out – drone – chime – in – out – pop – flicker – jingle.
angel chimes in shadow
Air is a fluid medium for sound. A plane loses pitch as it flies overhead. The furnace booms as the back-up burner kicks on. On a “quiet” Sunday afternoon, my house plays a symphony. The cat meows. I am cradled in sound. This sweet enfolding is the breath of life. I wrote a song called “The Breath of Life” about the wind singing around my house. The lyrics to the bridge are:
“The wind blows. The wind blows. I remember, remember to breathe.”
Take some time to listen. Breathe. Let your heart open.
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