Yesterday, I met a musician. He was playing the piano at a recital. Inspiration struck. Notes soared and gained shape blending into a beautiful melody that will be left imprinted on my soul for days. Harmonies rose and fell combining with the melody to make an audio Utopia. Everyone in the hall was silent as the last note died away. There was silence, but then applause resounding high into the rafters above. It was very beautiful.

Today, I am meeting a musician. He is punching the computer's keys in a commanding tempo. Inspiration strikes. The tempo increases into a percussion note that comes together and almost becomes one note, so fast are the keys struck. Still the tempo increases. Ideas are born fleetingly across his mind and either forgotten or incorporated into his essay. Finally it is finished, the essay is complete. I look down at my work and smile, imaginary applause comes from all around. It is very beautiful.

Tomorrow, I will meet a musician. She is a third-grader standing alone at her bus stop humming a song she heard on the radio. The humming will not be on key, nor will it be beautiful to the observer. But in her head it will be the most beautiful song she will ever know. Inspiration will strike. Other instruments and voices will join her in her head crescendoing to the last note she remembers. It will be beautiful, but no one will applaud. She tries to remember more, but gives up when she realizes that she missed the bus. She walks slowly, sadly, back to the house to ask her mother for a ride, her song forgotten. 1