Morning Music

It isn't the morning it happened. In fact, it
is a couple days following. The effects are
still in my blood.

Mom, Dad, Gina, Grace, Stan, and I traveled
to Kaysville Saturday morning to hear some
of Barlow's work on Stan's sonnet, Prevenient
Grace. I've known Barlow for years and
mornings are NOT a good thing. He hid it
well and we all were welcomed into the
living room, adequately equipped with a
Steinway.

Feelings were really close: to heart, to skin,
to Heaven, to one another. Barlow has finished
the score. He now has to separate the parts
into orchestral and choral. Still, lots to do.

Hearing it, though, was exceptional. The
chord progression and key changes, Barlow's
crashing on the piano keyboard was something
that reminded me of late Sunday evenings
when Dad would play Laura or Debussi.

We were all quiet as we listened to this
creation taking place, realizing Stan's writing
as the backbone by which the entire body of
music will be made.

Tears. Smiling. Wondering eyes. And breathless.