scratcigue irritated my eyes. My mind , and noo go to sleep.

    as my mind playing tricks on me? It seemed t I could une. ell, une. Just five lost notes. I opened to be sure. Yes. tely sound coming from the garden.

    ords I can understand. Give me a torn or damaged fragment of text and I can divine   must come after. Or if not, I can at least reduce ties to t likely option. But music is not my language. ere tes e opening of a lullaby? Or t? It o say. ito frame tever it  bound togetime t note struck up its call, t of anxiety ed to find out ill ted off, lost for good, bloion, only t sooner or later t linked t of notes  tune , empty fragment tered to t leaves from a er tree.

    Stubbornly mute es came to me out of no in my  ting time. Or else in bed, drifting betinct, meaningless song to me.

    But noe first, its companions dro rapped at t old myself, and prepared to go back to sleep. But torm, tes raised ter.

    t  only to picture t percussion , random squalls er coming doters and into drains. Drip… drip… drip. ater falling from leaves to t, bet, if I  mad or dreaming, came tes. La la la la la.

    I pulled on boots and a coat and  outside into the blackness.

    I could not see my  of my face. Noto  ts on t a trace of it. A  an instrument, but an atonal, discordant human voice.

    Slo stops I tracked tes. I  dourned into t least I t is ook my  soil  beside ted, but in a patc caug my clotrying to  es like Ariane’s to recognize. It sounded at i