A Rhapsody of Fallen Objects by Robert Scotellaro

Sometimes when enough has fallen down around you, it becomes a music you can dance to. Glass objects separating like startled birds across the hardwood floor.

The thud ofweightier things, dented but not broken. The pings, the clangs, the thunks. A makeshift orchestra that gravity conducts. As you go about the business of the day the pieces oddly melodic. Something you can tap a foot to.

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