doves

When I wake early in the morning, which is more often than not, I hear the mourning doves.

Their eerie call is both reassuring and haunting. As long as I can remember I have found it that way. It is almost like Faurés Pavane. I remember hearing that piece played on a late night radio station and being totally transfixed by the melancholy sound. That transfixion has never gone away.

Doves and Faure’. Wow.

I don’t know where I got my love of classical music. My grandpa had a degree in music at a time when few even went to college. He played the piano with gusto as long as I remembered, and from an early time in my life these classical sounds reached into my inner guy.

My daughters took music lessons, two of them continued through high school. I loved to hear them practice and perform. Now, when grandkids practice those same tunes, I remember vividly.

Of course (or not) I have become a serious music slob. If there is not Classical music on the radio, I’d rather be silent than to listen to much other music. You could argue that I am chicken!

Sometimes granddaughters ask me to listen to this or that and usually I am pleasantly surprised that I like it. But I don’t go prospecting.

I will write more about music and me, but for now it is morning and the doves speak to me. I like that.