re-post
I was standing out on the front verandah enjoying the early morning, that time of day that seems to be in chunks: bird song in chunks, sunlight sliced into wedges by the tree trunks, fragrance of the nighttime past coming across in cubes of scent.
Suddenly the sound of whistling came dancing through the air not in chunks but in crystals of music. I could not see anyone but the pieces seemed to be getting louder if not coming closer; at least that was how I thought of it then: it was so incongruous that it didn’t seem a person need be involved, simply some magic of nature, not human. However a very human paperman suddenly strode the pathway joining this house with next door and startled when he saw me.
I told him I was glad to hear him whistling. "It’s Mozart," he told me. I thought perhaps he might be joking. He was not. "Greatest composer," he went on, handing me the newspaper, and then he whistled some more crystals as he strode away. I am not at all familiar with classical music so do not know what piece (I don’t think it is called a tune or a song, is it) he was expressing. But it was very beautiful.