MAGPIE TALE: Dropping and Freeing the Note
Whole notes were always far beyond Cousin Herschel's cornbread budget. He stole a few broken half notes and quarter notes that took him all the way to Winslow.
The women he left behind came together to write a lively foxtrot in tribute of his many raids of the hen house and the back porch where last night he loved them best of all.
The Evelyn Q. Sydeen Music Society was oblivious to such feral rhythms and even a ukulele was as scandalous as an exposed ankle, yet those new syncopation could not be suppressed.
Spring was finally breaking down the frost, and music was taking to the woods, the brooks and serenading the raccoons and robins.
Music was everywhere, little of it committed to the page or acetate. Could it embed itself in the elms, the bloodlines and the hairline thread to reach the next 50 generations?