Window (November)

Our houses share the sounds of life. Our kettle sings like a clarinet. Conversation stretches the length of piano. Saxophone steps the up and down of household talk. Percussion includes windows and doors, the everyday footsteps upon floorboards. But the digeridu has no walls. Gates and fences are incidental to its countryside. The Art and Beauty of Deep Listening takes us down into dried-out capacious billabongs. Digeridu is both snake and bird, desert and forest. Out our window we see November storms. They bring down big trees. Trees that, hollowed and hallowed in time, fill with the breath of life.