The Sidewalk Song

While out walking one autumn afternoon, I noticed that the sidewalk had changed color. In front of a certain house, it was a strikingly rich, even, dark pewter-grey. Then I saw three small golden leaves that had fallen onto one section of sidewalk. The pattern of their placement and the angle of their stems seemed to suggest musical notes.

k

I laughed to think that I had strolled into some cosmic musical score. The next section or 'bar' of sidewalk held three 'notes' as well. Smiling at the novelty, I closed my eyes to see if I could hear this music. I was astounded at the surrounding symphony; car engines, wind rushing through trees, birds singing, horns honking, insects buzzing and barking dogs.

k

Why hadn't I heard it before? Or had I? Would I be able to hear it again? Had I uncovered the 'Music of the Spheres,' or was it just a serendipitous gestalt experience? Surely the great works of classical music are an inherent resonance of this ongoing score. I would even dare to speculate that all music has descended directly from the pulse of this stirring, eternal, primal aria.

k

I was able to repeat the experience by temporarily dropping the filtration process of perception that enables us to survive and function in our complex world. The music was always different, always delightful and always there. Our own hearts keep time with it. Do we learn to hear the song, or do we learn to tune it out?

k

It's still there; everywhere. I dare you to take a walk, alone, and listen, really listen to everything all at once. Watch, as every thing you see joins the dance. But please don't get hit by a car or anything. Stay out of the percussion section.

kkk