Scattered Ashes

Reading the Dream of Scipio again, I was drawn once more towards the section regarding the sounds produced by the Heavenly Spheres. The concept always struck me as utterly elegant: the imagery of the spheres producing beautiful music, and our inability to hear it due to the deafening effects of having grown accustomed to the sounds (those inaudible harmonies echoing in the infinite perfection of the Universe). Even now, in my nocturnal contemplations, when I look up to the skies, I close my eyes in complete silence hoping to perceive the Music of the Spheres. I sense the Moon there, my friendly companion, watching over my ashes throughout the darkness of the night. It is then that I invoke the Muse. Her specter comes to me and whispers her song in my ear: it is the Music of the Spheres. I, in turn, try to communicate these words to her in the silence of my solitude.

But will she ever read them?

The Muse came back in Her usual female form. She came and left, leaving me with the faint memory of Her scent. That, and a smile to build a dream on.