It's Still Life

25 November:
I’m sitting in my chair. Reclined. Fingers locked across my lap. Eyes closed, and headphones isolating me from vague noise. I’m listening to I Walk With Ghosts by Scott Buckley. Violins in deep centred waves. Spiral rebirth – I fall into a shallow sleep. A shallow breath. Strings drawing out my every thought into infinity’s mist. And then I am asleep. The melody shuffles and slides. In. Out.

He’s fallen asleep in his chair, watching me sleep in my chair, watching me fall into the magic of music that brings a different message every time I hear it. Why is a violin such a sad tone. Or is it only me who feels the foundation of sadness in it. I am a violin.

As we drove home, the moon climbed into the late afternoon sky. Full and round, and brimming over with hope as if it might bless all those below it. Why are violins so sad. They drain me of hope even though the full moon wants to fill me.

It’s possible that my spine is strung with catgut. I feel every measure. Every beat. Every full and half note. I resonate. A person shouldn’t be allowed to sleep through music like this.

Some artwork is created using Midjourney AI, and is identified as such in the ALT text or captioned. Imagery and poems ©Misky 2023.