The notes rained down and the cellist was one with the universe.

Constantly talking isn’t necessarily communicating.

Now I see with eye serene,
The very heart of the machine.

There the thundering strokes begin,
There the press and there the din.

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.

Me has a new hobby 🙂

When this tree fell, I wasn’t there to see it.
Wonder if it made a sound.

AAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRGGGHHHHHH

The kettle can wait.