…who’s there?

the curious knocking played hide and go seek as as she adjusted her earbuds.

ambient sound on - knocking started
ambient sound off - knocking stopped
ambient sound on - knocking started
noise cancelling on - knocking should've stopped, but in fact doppler-ed itself into Sony's subtle subsuming hiss

slowing the pace, she closed her eyes and went into the same aural dissection arena she used to transcribe other fares. Were it music, this is where the pick-a-part would begin - hooking an individual instrument line and pulling it back from the orchestra, then another, then another, until all lest one were pulled back from the group.

here though, it was a dogs bark, then a rustling from somewhere up the mountain, then the clang of trains coupling 5 kms toward town, then the breeze that carried it all to and from silence's lap, then

ha! no knocking

until... knocking

eyes sealed into a grimace now, she folded the world up corner by corner into a perfect origami-ed platonic solid,
tucked it away for contemplation on her ajna's puja
and looked for the sound leak without purchase until the Muse was ready

it could never be rushed, this process. the Muse appeared if and when she was ready, and even if an appearance *was* made there was no promise of explanation - explanation was often stillborn in the waters of her revelations. such was today:

as the earpods came off
the ajna was opened, the solid retrieved
and treed like an errant christmas ornament

the Muse retreated and watched her young lady in wonder as she attended the knocking just behind the branched origami
simple mystery, really - a speckled woodpecker vying for fiber and attention

and the afternoon unwound into breath and haikus and wonder
as silence surrendered sunlight to stars
the knocking bowed to the night
and the earpods went in again