14 Quotes by Anna Smaill

The trees are budding their new leaves and a thought comes into my head. They have a kind of rhythm in their upright trunks and their branches that start thick and then divide and get narrower and lighter and faster till they quiver in the air like breath past a clarionet reed. That is a rhythm you can see, not hear. Perhaps music happens elsewhere than in ears.

A door in my chest opens with an unfamiliar happiness. In my arms, there is an echo of his nearness, what it felt like to hold him.

How without mercy and without blame we have all of us been. And how careless to have misplaced so much.

The man comes closer. I recognise him. It’s Johannes, who teaches rudiments and solfege at the local school. I raise my hand in the notes for greeting and he carves out the response. So crisp and clear I can’t help feeling the implied correction of my slumped tones.

When the music comes, you try to see it shining between your eyes. Like threads stretched taut and the notes as colored beads threaded on. When you get very good, it’s as if you can see inside the music, through it. You bring the music alive, bring it into being. As if you’re the one composing.