Eine Kleine Nachtmusik

I keep a notebook on the nightstand, pencil at hand – life-rafts for thoughts. A flock of dream-crows take off all at once, the clatter of their wings a whole symphony played in just one moment. Grandmother would speak in her Highland tongue; sounds lyrical and melodic. As a child I just listened not deciphering or even thinking, absorbing only the sounds of her rhythmic brogue, her Celtic chimes. Mozart leaps up from a nocturnal reverie stumbles around lighting candles, lays his sleepy forehead on a keyboard endeavors to recall a certain harmonic overheard as the trills of Pipistrelle bats. When my head swings from the pillow I cannot find the pencil. Mind mutely watches a cappella words wander away from their musical roots, silence falls out of nowhere into nowhere.