I was sitting in this bucolic gated setting made of stones and flowers enjoying myself – the sounds around me.
At one point, there were two other people sitting in the gated garden.
I simply loved it.
The sounds.
The drunks yelling at each other; the horns of the cars; the footsteps of passers by, the Firetrucks, stopping on the other side of the stone wall.
Which one of these?
Which one of these would I pick?
They are all integral to the sound. This morning there was about ten minutes after I awoke early with another migraine moment of silence.
And then the sound
And the woman with the red hair her voice was pretty low, yet a woman’s voice. said-
it’s a constant symphony out here.
And I said ‘That’s it.
So yeah.
Guess who I started thinking about here, in this big old, haunted house (maybe) but certainly drafty place?
I forgot.
