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?