I looked at the beautiful wind chimes in the flat, heavy cardboard box that lay on my lap. I had just opened the carefully wrapped present in our family Christmas celebration. “Mozart” said the label on the box. These would make some beautiful music. I immediately began thinking of where I could hang them.
“Where do you want to hang them?” Asked Certain Man. He had the whole week off and was busy getting things done.
“I don’t really know,” I said. “I’ve been thinking about taking down the plant that Hortencia gave me last summer just before they left, and hanging them there, right outside my kitchen window. I could hear them there.”
He looked at me with that look in his eye that said that he had a better idea. (He really is like the old Ford slogan, He usually has a better idea!) “I’ve been thinking, maybe,” he said, “that we ought to hang it off the upper deck, outside our bedroom window. That way we could hear it at night.”
“That sounds fine,” I said. “It would be nice to hear it at night.” I thought about the fact that it was winter, and it would be spring before I could hear much of anything, and that if it was up on the upper deck near to the house (where I understood he wanted to put it) it wouldn’t get much wind at anytime and that wasn’t what I wanted, either. But, still. This Certain Man often thinks of things that never cross my fur brain, and I thought that he probably had a plan.
Yesterday, while I wasn’t looking, he put in a hook, up on the corner post of the highest platform, and hung the chimes right exactly where they should have been hung.
The weather has been so strange this year. Last night, it was so warm in our bedroom that I opened the window, and turned on the ceiling fan. It had been a long day, and I lay there so tired I hardly knew whether I was going to be able to sleep. And then, —
I heard the gentle noise of music in the night. The chord was familiar and soothing. The night was wild with the wind and rain, and I listened to the storm interlaced with the music. A symphony, unscripted and unrehearsed emerged as if Mozart himself was composing in cahoots with the elements.
Certain Man said that we needed to hang it high so we could hear it from our bedroom window. He was so right. So very right!
And I slept the hard, deep sleep of the very weary, lulled by a melody that was provided by a gift from Youngest Son and his Girl With a Beautiful Heart, hung by that Man That I Love Best, and carried by a strange warm wind on a Delaware December night.
My heart could not have been more full of the grace and glory of this moment.
And I gave quiet, grateful praise.