Linda and I often walk in our neighborhood by Lake Michigan early on Sunday mornings. It's a wonderful way to have some quiet time and experience all the seasons.
Single notes
from a piano
being slowly
played.
Each note drifting
on the already
warm air currents
upwards towards the trees,
a humid hymn
for a still sleeping
neighborhood.
Eventually, I recognize it
as Bach
at a very slow
tempo.
The notes are correct
but played as if
someone
is practicing,
learning the piece
in the summer's
early morning
silence.
The music lingers
as we stroll,
the sun
at our backs
projects our
long shadows,
giants in
a Sunday morning
procession.
