piano music

Someone in this block of apartments has a piano and is good at playing it. I hear fragments of music come drifting in, usually in the early evenings. It has to be someone on the same floor as me or above, but I have no way of telling who it is. (I've tried opening the window and listening, but can't make out the direction.)

Pause for a Neverwinter Nights moment. Allow me to express my utter loathing for giant ancient red dragons who, despite having been given a Dead Dragon Sphere and already being Seriously Wounded, still manage to trample me into the ground. I think I need to go raise myself a level or two. I hear the Creator Ruins calling me.

Memo to self; remember to call by blood donation centre. Also remember to buy those brushed cotton sheets/etc at Muji, since bank account can afford it.

Must work busily and hard all this coming week, since the week after that I have off! Off! OFF! (Must also try to do something useful with said week, rather than just sleep in and play computer games, fun as that would be.)

---

A Piece Of The Storm

For Sharon Horvath

From the shadow of domes in the city of domes,
A snowflake, a blizzard of one, weightless, entered your room
And made its way to the arm of the chair where you, looking up
From your book, saw it the moment it landed. That's all
There was to it. No more than a solemn waking
To brevity, to the lifting and falling away of attention, swiftly,
A time between times, a flowerless funeral.
No more than that
Except for the feeling that this piece of the storm,
Which turned into nothing before your eyes, would come back,
That someone years hence, sitting as you are now, might say:
"It's time. The air is ready. The sky has an opening."

-- Mark Strand