I sat this morning by my window,

watching a small insect struggle toward the top,

the brim, possibly to freedom,

or so it thought.

I suspect I wanted to reach out

and touch the thing - as if to connect myself with the surreal -

a tiny, living, beating thing.

I thought, “How small the heart must be.”

Suddenly, I was aware that I had been blindly staring,

static running through my ears.

This static, however, had a different sound.

One that rose and fell, was sad and mournful ...

A dark orchestra of my own compulsion.

Images rose of violins, cellos, and passionate, weeping musicians,

walking through the door of my thoughts

and settling down for the first of many symphonies.

The fear that this emotion would not last clouded my vision for only a moment -

a reverential feeling I had for

My music overwhelmed such fear

and drove me further into unwavering, joyous silence.