When I was a kid I would write a wish on a little piece of paper,  tie it to a balloon and release it into the air.  I would imagine someone finding my words wrapped around their laundry line, bopping around in their front yard or floating past their house for them to chase down.  They would read my wish and we would become mysterious friends that only communicate through the shapes of clouds, falling maple seeds spinning to the ground, the sound of wind in the trees or dandelion seed pods aloft with our breath. With a secret angel working on my behalf, my wish would be that much closer to manifesting.  I recall having one primary wish that I reformatted the words to in various attempts.  I wished, with all my heart, that I would find a friend that communicated with sight and sound the same special way I did :  through a whispering music and symbolism that I couldn’t explain as anything else but loving and longing to be loved.  Sometimes I would imagine my balloon get getting caught in a tree and a squirrel would chew up the paper and use it for its' nest to keep its' babies warm.  My wish was a useful gift.  Often, the wish was granted through the ever-present sound of the forest, the ping of a frozen lake’s ice cracking under my feet or the strumming of water with a canoe paddle. 
​     In a way, it's like these days that I spend thinking of my days ahead.  From a distance, my wish is a song that I release,  bellowing and echoing.  The sound is in the air and I hear it float away.  Somehow, perhaps you might hear it, while playing in the park with your child, plunging underwater to escape the summer heat or in the nighttime silence that hide in pockets of your town. Or perhaps a squirrel will hear it, lifting its’ head momentarily before returning to its’ task, but either way, this music is good love in the air.  My is music is love, a useful gift.