And here's the story: When I first came to California my son and I lived on a small dirt road in Palo Alto that had five little orchard houses on it, which have, sadly, long since been torn down for new condos. Our house had four rooms. Most of the other houses only had three. One of our neighbors was a musician who, in addition to composing music, collected instruments from all over the world. His grand piano filled his one front room. All the other instruments filled the other rooms. I was working on an animation at the time. It was nearly complete, but needed a sound track. He volunteered to compose a piece for it. I put it on video and we set the tv monitor up on his piano. He watched the film once, sitting at his piano bench. Then he rewound it and as it started playing the second time he started composing. There was no place to sit so I lay under the piano to record him. Just when he started playing, the rain began.
The grand piano filled his one front room.
Rain had started when I went to visit.
We were neighbors, not close friends.
He was shy and I was awkward.
He asked me in, began to play.
I lay down under the piano
The rain and music falling like wet stars.