Moonlight

It’s late and I can’t sleep. I put on the first movement of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata and sit in the living room with the lights off, listening, watching the snow fall past my apartment’s windows. There’s the faint rasp of Rudolf Serkin’s breath as he plays. The snow’s steady ongoing fall makes me feel as if it’s in here that’s moving rather than out there, as if I’m in the cabin of a ship, sailing the night.