Days of Music

A rabbit stopped me on the way home last night. He hopped out of a bush, and though any other night he would have run at the sight of me, this night, he just stared. Then he spoke. "Do not just listen," he said, "let the music move you."
"Thank you for that," I replied, "I haven't danced much lately."
He just stared some more, wiggling his bunny-whiskers. "I must be off," he said finally, "I'm lettuce hunting. I don't want to lose the trail." And with that, he bounced off without looking back.
Today, I was driving down a country road as Clocks played on my car stereo. As the world whizzed past me, I began to notice that it was picking up the music. The fence posts began to light up as I passed them, in time with the notes. They were joined by the telephone poles which, every 10 yards, would flash with color as the symbols crashed from my speakers. The trees took over for the fence posts as the grass jumped in too. And the sun held it all together, melding the world into harmonies. Soon, I was encompassed by a passing landscape alive with glowing bursts of music. And I was glad I had listened to the rabbit, for I was dancing.

It would, after all, be very sad to be in the midst of a musical world

and not feel the least bit moved to action.

The Dance

is for those that will.