Fast fiction - MUSIC

MUSIC

         In the aftermath of the thunderstorm, the wind chimes play a tune–– an actual tune. Following my method of teaching sight reading, it sounds like this: “one-five-one-five-two-five.”, then back to “one-five-one - five- two.” Now, a “two-three-one” plays like a cadence. Then “one-one-one-one” followed by four and five together, then four and five an eighth note apart.

        This reminds me of the PBS ad where Andre Previn, symphony conductor, is shown at his piano He is composing.  Looking out the window, he sees a flock of birds sitting on a staff of wires. As he watches, he one-fingers a melody, which, obviously, is to become a great piece.

        Suddenly, the chimes are mute. The sky darkens, a rooster crows. It is only 5 pm. The black cats await their food that I dispense with a mixture of chagrin and guilt. These cats, children of feral descendants, resist my touch, but demand––in kitten-like meows (though they are grown)––any food I choose. As I pour it into the feed box, they dance around the edges, crazy to taste it but not be touched by the giver. These four identical felines we have named the Moors. They are silent now, like the wind chimes.

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