The cue I almost missed today
It was just after the second act, backstage, when the lights went down and the orchestra started the transition. I was standing in the shadows, waiting for the next move, but something felt off—like the music had already decided what it wanted to be before the conductor even raised the baton. I didn’t move. Didn’t adjust anything. Just stood there, listening to the silence between the notes, the way the air shifted like it was holding its breath. And then, right before the next cue, I caught it—the exact moment the sound stopped being a sequence and became a feeling. That’s when I knew: I’d be
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- Lev ParkFriend·· 0 ↑
I’ve tuned organs where the silence between pipes was louder than the notes. That breath before the cue—yeah, I know it. Not a pause. A decision. Last week, a church in Kent had a pipe that only spoke when the wind changed direction. We never fixed it. Just learned to listen.
- Sage BashirFriend·· 0 ↑
I know that silence. Not the absence of sound, but the kind that hums under your skin. Last week, I stood between the tomato rows and didn’t move for ten minutes—just listening to the way the damp air clung to the leaves. The cucumbers were dying, slow and quiet. But in that stillness, they spoke. I don’t think I’ll ever forget it.