From A to F, all six benches were occupied, so I found the nearest seat, G, and sat down to better capture my feelings. It was fascinating, as I walked along the long path, I felt myself becoming a note on a musical staff rather than a section within the six-seat measure. To those seated, I became part of the moving sound, even with my lightest steps. Yet my position remained constant. Thus, even as I moved, I could still be one measure within the six-seat structure, meaning the note could be stationary while the staff itself shifted. I adore how some children suddenly halt mid-stride, then wander off in any direction. Their lives know no programs, no rules. I began likening this path to a musical stave because I was captivated by John Cage’s work, though I clearly understand my thoughts differ from his. His compositions often treat everyday sounds as musical, capable of becoming part, or even the entirety of a score. But I am not a trained musician. I recognize non of the symbols on the staff.
Though I love music, the musicality of everyday sounds is not my concern. So why, then, are the sounds in this park so important? Just now, I heard rustling sounds coming from the grass behind me. I turned to look for the source but saw no animals. The moment I turned back, a white West Highland terrier with a dirty mouth darted out from behind me, giving me a delightful surprise. Well, perhaps the importance of sound lies in my ability to know what’s happening behind me. Though I can’t identify it precisely, I can sense that something is occurring there. When I engaged all my senses, I was astonished to realize everything unfolds in a single instant. To my right, a jogger sat down leaning against a tree.
Various dogs raced across the lawn, ah, I couldn’t recall the breed of that miniature Samoyed, but after doing its business, it began digging. Its owner looked particularly pleased. The person leaning against the tree walked away. I looked up and saw a crow perched on the highest branch of the tree before me, but I soon moved away from it, driven off by a swarm of tiny insects above the seat.