audible

Sometimes words are just music themselves.

Like “Strawberry” is a very musical sounding word to me. “Dandelion” is another.

I like “Honeysuckle” and “Hurricane,” too. And “Hallelujah.”

Standing on the edge of the vowel forest, I also encounter:

A blossoming almond tree.

The thicket grown loud with nightingales.

Skin and heart. Bed. House. Heartbreak (and with it, the tentative hope for happiness).

And a cloud of starlings.

Sometimes I think that my main instrument is idiom, my voice is just a dialect, and my actual purpose as a songwriter is simply to report on the human heart in the most musical of observational terms.

To make the notes audible in the key of English.

opening sounds

What something sounds like can’t change what it is:

The sound of a drawer opening …

The north wind on the telephone lines …

A motorbike along the lane …

Lilacs crashing through old barn walls …

The key turning in the door to an empty house …

Footsteps retreating.

Yet sound opens sound. It taps the spot that’s inside me with a lyric or melody, and the door to music opens:

The sound of clothes being emptied from the drawer by a departing lover …

The sound of the dangling farewell …

A biker who falls and in his fall hears his bones cry out …

The young sound in an old heart …

The hollow echo of the voice inside the door …

And me, walking beside you … humming like the air.