sallyonchesil

They say that our hearing is the last sense we lose as we die

 Sound is something I treasure 

Rain on a tent in the darkness of the night 

Bird song 

The breath of my dog sighing in her sleep 

Crickets 

Mandolins and violins, drumming and soulful voices 

Keys in the door as a loved one returns home from a long trip away

Sound as a map, a whisper, a vibration  

For my final journey I thought I’d take with me my small musical box 

Each sheet is a poem of love translated into sound