In Stereo

My roommate bought a new stereo, was blown away by the sound. She turned up the cello suite loud as I tripped down the neighborhood to get the mail of a friend who was away. While I was there, I opened the window to let the evening breeze through, and the same concerto came streaming in from the street, from the lone musician I have passed on that street corner before. He always picks the quiet evenings, when the night is dark and soft like velvet, to play his pieces. I sat in the window and watched the smoke curl into his music, as a wind blew in from the west and chilled my weary skin.

And slowly, slowly, I began to unravel. Petal by petal slipped from my shell onto the window sill, down the fire escape, and onto the sidewalk, and that's when it happened. After such a long day of sneaking around my purpose, with endless excuses for my ineptitude, words began to whirl around my head and stream onto the pages. For a short moment, (always too short, these moments), the street disappeared, the lights, the rustle in the trees, the takeout food scents. For that short moment I was only in the world of the Word.

That world is painted a little differently than the supposedly Real one. But the music sounds just as sweet. If only you hook it up right.