Singer of Joy

This morning when you woke me with that phone call, I was dreaming of you.

We were waiting for someone, a couple, actually, you might have been part of the couple, to marry. But there was some reason that neither of us could yet depart and we embraced, and you sang, clear and steady, a song of love.

We twirled through someone else's house, old furniture spinning past and persian rugs beneath our feet, and when you forgot the words you sang on, maintaining the melody with the simplest of sounds--lahdaidedai. They rang from your lips like the peals of a tiny church bell, and you beamed at me as you rarely do and your eyes twinkled with happiness.

Even now the memory of the tune is burned in my mind. I hope the tune stays, as my previous dreams of such have remained. But more than that I hope that I can remember the way you sang, the way your voice sounded in those happy moments few.

There was joy in your voice.

Lahdaidedai. . .