lullabye

A CD came in the mail today. It’s my lullabye and noone can appreciate it as much as I do. I listened to it years ago lying in my college dorm room, a pile of laundry at the foot of the bed, books across the floor. I was stressed and a little unhinged, and it calmed me.

First there is a woman humming and awwing, then the flute starts to stir, a solitary animal waking. It gets playful but there’s still this blanket of calm, and that’s the piano—a constant. The piano is everything else, the whole world, sky, the wind, the trees, and grasses, one front that seems to draw closer and closer protecting you. The guitar eases in rattling darkly, wildlly, portending something ominous but within a few bars, whatever it is, is subdued, gentled. The threat isn’t gone just transformed. And the story ends with the woman still humming, this time a little more sadly, but also a little relieved.

The best way to listen to this song is lying down. Arms out and legs spread. Noone can lie that way for long, you feel too vulnerable, but it's the best way.