Curt Siffert's Piano Musings

The scaffolding from where treasures are stored and later forgotten.

She got them in Guatemala, and kept them next to her matryoshka dolls. At night, the worry dolls would dance and try to offer comfort to their counterparts.

Think of the opposite of erosion. Sand and swamp, to soil, rock, and clay, and finally vegetation and peaceful structure.

That church is always humming to itself a bit. It comes from deep inside the walls. But you can only really hear it after the congregants all leave.

It was a young planet, taken too quickly.

Something horrible happened the night before. Can the meadow not acknowledge that? Sometimes when morning breaks, there is a rudeness to the peace.

The rush of the storm has passed. The only things that got washed away were those things you can do without.