Soundwaves

A tink­ling piano in the next apart­ment
Those stum­bling words that told you what my heart meant
A fairground’s painted swings
These fool­ish things remind me of you.

I’ve been sit­ting at my desk, tap­ping away at the com­puter for a couple of hours. Out­side, the Lon­don night has been almost eer­ily quiet. All the usual ‘noises off’ — life being lived, traffic, police sirens, loud music, phones ringing, people shout­ing — have been absent. The only sound I’ve heard has been a rare example of simple, eleg­ant beauty. Someone in the house oppos­ite has been play­ing lazy, del­ic­ate jazz on their piano. Thanks to tonight’s breeze, the notes have drif­ted in through my win­dow. Magical. Musical. Relax­ing. Emo­tional. Wonderful.

Why can’t the city always be this way?