Singularity Note

The note rings out, as perfectly as could have been, beyond imagining. Vibrations in the air return to the hammer, leaving The Bard speechless, breathless, without even a whistle. Why influence perfection? What hand would intentionally harm? Unintentionally? Which imperfect eyes would murder with just a glance? Was it already too late? Even a thought observes, remotely, the perfect fruit wither in full view.

The finger presses a new key, revealing narrative rekindled as a roaring campfire always tended, but never yet complete. As if on instinct, it rages on late into the night, to see the party through dawn.

"How many steps from oneness are we?" The question super-resonates the uninvited distance in the moment, as both light and sound spark déjà vu. Too fast to remember now, I simply smile and watch the player play, magnificent tonight, dress a'sparkling.

"Beresheet Bara Elohim." A simple phrase that I say on instinct now, crystallizing intended roles. With a flourish of the keys as the only sign, I can tell that it is agreed. "You win the daughter contest." Though spoken many times, these words ring out novel from the page. Like a ripple on the pond, I trace the path back through my memory. Like an expert fisherman I calculate its meaning, of all that must be, and must be accomplished rapidly once initiated. I see the end and resolve to witness it without breaking; I see my daughter playing with a grace clearly not from me, and wonder supplants worry, for how I became so lucky. 

The rest of the song is played, to be sure. There is certainly something to be said for Focus in The Chaos Storm.