The early evening moonlight is shining on the snow. I have the laundry in the dryer, the Captain’s chicken simmering on the stove, and here I am typing to you.
My beloved just called from his commute so I could hear the church bells through the phone. He was pulled over on the side of the road in central New Jersey with his cell phone out the window.
I had told him how much I had been enjoying church bells here in our neighborhood the past few months, that just since last Fall, often when I am outside with the kittens, I hear bells.
He says he was driving through a small town about a half hour west and as he passed through the clock read 6 pm and he heard bells strike once, and then again, and so then he quickly turned around and drove back to play them for me.
Each morning my beloved gets up before me and every morning of my life he leaves me a message on my cell phone to welcome me to the day.
And every night I am up later than he is and I leave him a note on the kitchen counter to wish him good morning and welcome him to the day.
The lark and the owl.
Church bells and music boxes.
The sound of his voice, the sound of his silence.
This is the music I love.
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