The sound of a harmonica is a wondrous thing. It's soft purr as it's musician breaths life into it's skeletal frame, and the high pitches as it's master empties their heart through that small metal conduit. There is something about making breath music that is so epic to me. I am not talking about the overweight man that just climbed a small flight of stairs heavy breathing, but the man that has breath locked in his lungs waiting to escape, it's dying anthem melodious harmony. As I listen, my own lungs clap along as if it is a familiar tune that my ears have never heard before.
This morning I awoke in a quaint Romanian house to George (gah-or-gay) playing "Come thou fount" on his harmonica. I cannot describe the simplicity and beauty of that moment. A wave of pure delight overcame me as my lungs hummed along to the melody. I sat very still until the last note sounded, and he then told me of how his mother sang to him this song and her mother to her. He said "it brings a joy into my heart when I play the notes, it's like nostalgia..you know?" I was surprised he knew that English word, I just smiled and said "oh, I know."
All day long I have sang this song to myself, I don't think I will ever stop appreciating it, especially not after this morning.
