Mornings are perhaps the most beautiful time of day here. The sun rises, brilliant pink and orange, slowly crawling above the fields in front of the house. The corn has grown tall and looks like lithe ballet dancers gracefully swaying in the slight breeze. Waves of light are thrown across patches of earth and the bricks of the house, almost like slivers of diamonds caught between the shadows. The air is mostly quiet, the slight buzzing and humming of nature the only accompaniment to the music that fills my soul on such mornings.
There is indeed a song in my soul, and mornings are when I can feel the music at its most powerful crescendo. The music is different, some days only a slight variation of the day before, other days passionately bursting forth a new, and perhaps unfamiliar, tune. Some mornings bring melodies of comfort and others feel more like a tune caught in staccato. This morning, it is a lullaby playing in my soul, trying to lull me back to the comfort of bed and the serenity of slumber.
The music inside me will continue throughout the day, though I will only hear it periodically in moments of quiet. In all the moments between, I must remind myself that the beauty of the mornings awaits for each tomorrow and the melody of music is always in my soul.
Keep writing and playing the piano. I love it when you use your talents.
Love,
Dad
Posted by: Papa Joe | August 19, 2009 at 07:48 AM