I wish there was a way to sing in text form, since I always get the urge to do so after the family’s gone to sleep.
The feeling of sweeps between resonant lows and sweet highs in my chest, throat, head, finding just how far my voice can climb and seeking its depths.
All framed by the silence of the night, a precious time free of televisions below my bed and automobiles on the road just a stone’s throw away.
But this is a time for others to rest, those who go out in the light and work away, the people of the day; it’s not my place to disturb them.
So, I suppose that is what writing is for.
