Saturday night's sound meditation feels like coming home to a part of myself, a once hidden vibration inside finding its way into form…

Long nights expand more than just the dark. A relief for the shape of the day to go away, gifting an impression of night. A sculptor finding joy in the marble carved away…

Gathering winds whisk me more and more. A few leaves remain branch bound in defiance, yet fall continues to descend. I can taste the silence and stillness of winter on the horizon, yet my present is still born on crisp gusts…

At the height of this season, the world around me pauses in its fullness. The mute of winter, and the startle of spring, seem long gone. Now and here, in the cradle of heat that seems to slow the roll of the seasons, I steady…

The lush has taken over. Once spindled branches and silent stalks have emerged to their fullness. I feel the wild again, that only sun can bring. A gregarious green grimaces outside my window, obscuring my once unconditional view, speaking of life…

The beauty in a sharp chill’s satisfying snap slips between my fingers, as a wandering wind rushes through, willing me to hasten home. Hugging tight, shoulders to ears, something brightens in my contraction…

When the wind is absent, I sense the delicacy of winter, like a piece of soft silk carefully wrapping my face, or a snowflake silently melting in my palm. This coldness practices in its timid voice, afraid of its power to awaken the sleepers inside…

Under the moon shine, we sail together, knitting stories into a net. In the long night, we hold corners of the net, waiting for the harmonics to fall together into serenade…

This twilight of year opens renewed the first silent spaces of winter, yet with a gentler patina. I brush aside the cobwebs from a recurring time sealed in the senses – awakened by the scents and sounds of chill nights…

A leaf, color half-transformed, wandering to me, like a feather falling from a rushing migrating bird, gifted me a faint sigh when hitting on the concrete pavement. A sparrow, teamed up, flying over me, like an elegant wind, left me no clouds when disappearing into the clear sky…

Heat is rising. Air is heavy. Lingering memories of winter have burnt away. Space is opening as our horizons widen. In anticipation and relaxation, I hear more the space around me each day…

Someone is watering the wild magic of spring, you can hear it in the walking clouds and sudden rain. The weather has a young mood, like a toddler trying on shoes. Shoes running down streets again with shouts startling birds, startling us…

The motion and emotion of eternal recurrence of transition; the embodiment of cadence; the path between resonance and dissonance, tension and release – bloom – speaks of life’s richness overflowing…

Frost clings tight in the night, lingers long into the day, and melts as it may to wash away those jagged memories. The sun simmers tea on a cold afternoon, dripping down icicles, its sound a beat to represent the rising heat…

I am longing for a storm with howling wind, heavy snow, and a reboot for the system. It blows away gloominess, covers up establishment, and buries old stories…

As we sit together, listening back, echoes of 2020’s quiet and noise compose our unusual song of solitude.