The space between the strings was where the hidden notes lay. She could hear them vibrate as she moved up the neck and she tried to capture them in her mind for later. Maybe to write a compilation based on visceral harmonies, not notes woven among the staff lines of another time. Her score would look something like the imprints moths’ wings left behind on the dusty glass shade.

Ah well, enough for today. She gathered up her things and leaving the violin out of its case on the bed, struck out for the corner coffeeshop for some “Righteous Joe” as it was called. The coffee was maybe not so righteous but the owner was. Back in her room a lazy breeze slipped through the window and slid the music from the stand to land in a loose discard on the floor. It moved across the strings of the violin like water, pulling the sounds of light and air and tangled shadows across the sheets and slipped them under her pillow to float up later through her dreams.