Thoughts of motion fill my soul. I could watch the bare black maple branches sway in the wind in the falling snow all day, watch the patterns of crows so impossibly dark against the white sky, lose my thoughts in the rippling green of cedar boughs high above my head.

I hear music in my head and visualize. Some sultry violin and I want to move serpentine like wind across the surface of a deep green pool, feline, muscles and sinew. Staccato drumbeats and I’m a tin can kicked on a gravel road, a horse running, a quick kiss. Airy flute and I’m a single high waterfall shaking as I plummet, the updraft catching the resounding spray, or I'm some little bird fluttering branch to branch. Heavy bass makes me a mudslide, a wave pounding the cliffs, a falling tree. How does sound move, this is my question.