Music. Flowing towards my special corner in the living room. Gentle. Graceful. Warmth surrounds me. Partly from the whirling heater, floating like the music. Partly from love, embracing my heart.

Evangeline on the piano, Lysander on the french horn, Aurelius on guitar, mommy on viola, and daddy on violin. All of them, on the velvet carpet at the center of the room, tapping, swaying, dancing. And me on my couch, cuddled in a furry blanket, staring out into nothing.

My eyes, looking into a dark mind.

Silent, and still.

Till a spark,

Breaks through the void.

Colors ripple throughout my mind.

That part sounds like a calm blue. An ocean blue; not deep out to sea ocean blue, but just offshore, sunny day, with fine white foam ocean blue.

And this part sounds like a peacock blue. It sounds special, and exotic, and more sorrowful. I mean peacocks aren’t sad, but the color looks a bit dull. Peacocks aren’t dull either, they’re beautiful, and vibrant, but peacock blue is different from peacock bird, and both are different from the offshore-sunny-day-with-fine-white-foam-ocean blue. A small difference of notes from one phrase to the other. The normal melody versus the special. Both beautiful. Similar shapes, different moods.

As the piece moves through, aureolin yellow, carmine red, eminence purple, isabelline white. Colors swirl in my head:

some shooting out like volcanos

some floating by like clouds

some misty

some like floods.

It’ll be great to paint to music, not just paint a mountain or an ocean while listening to music, but to paint the music, paint the melody. . .

I race to grab a large, thick piece of paper and painting supplies, and set it all on the floor. I pick up a brush and start visualizing the music.

Some of the notes urged me to draw circles, some harsh lines, some a bright orange, some a dull green. I draw whatever I imagine. My mind relaxes. Shuts down. Goes to a silent world. Yet my hands, still moving the brushes through paint, and water, and paint, and water. . .

I quickly ran out of room and started layering on top of the paint on the page. The glossy wet paint starts to swirl into other colors and the paper curls, ruining the pristine smooth surface. I peek at the other side of the paper, soaked through with paint, and run to get a huge cardboard square from my room to keep the wooden floor clean.

My painting has too many colors, too many layers, all the beautiful single colors mixing into the same grayish brown.

Music is different from painting.

Music is rich, with layers upon layers of melodies.

Filled with passion, enchantment.

Golden. . .