Of Day

I hear the birds singing as I sit by the window and look out on the horizon. I like looking at all the colours of the sky in the moments after sunset, when ambers recede and the sky becomes ever more blue before night time. I hear the sound of my fingers typing on my keyboard, too: nature and words are my evening.Nature and words are my evening, and so too is music. Moments ago I was playing on the piano, two songs I love but haven’t played in as long as I can remember. And one more song that I play often: one that always makes me feel free to improvise; one where the piano shines through the recording to which I listen while I play; one where I can be an accompaniment to the melody.A cool breeze comes through the periphery of a window; I had a window open earlier while I played music, hoping that perhaps someone would hear a note or two and feel in wonder. I remember a story a friend told me about how welcomed their music was by a neighbour. I don’t know what it is about music that…