Catgut screeches violently around me, intensified by wooden floors and hollow walls. I can’t think, I can’t write!
Suddenly, a purposeful pause.
Did the cow surrender to the milky light? Was the sheep returned to the flock? Is the crow content with being alone?
Slowly, achingly, sweetly streaming, “Pachelbel Canon” rises and falls like an ocean wave.
My untethered words seek the path less chosen.
And the musician’s life is spared once again.