Along the riverbank, where autumn dances, the unsuspecting echo of Mozart teases forgotten dreams associated with school, but that never truly belonged there.
Lesson: When blending tones, listen for what is not played.
In the shadows of ogling clocks, a sermon on the delicate stitching of evening at a cafe—remnants of a conversation not fully recalled, except for its warm coffee scent.
Lesson: Composition is often the art of patching together absent minds.
Sifting through dusty cabinets, an essay on the relentless thudding of the metronome discovered in scribbles atop lemon-scented paper. There were instructions on how to keep time, paradoxically, without following it.
Lesson: Sometimes, instruction itself is a composition of tonal chaos.