This audio piece is my first attempt at sound mixing. It was so intriguing and fun (to the point that my face got all red, flustered and uncomfortable).
Give it a hear, eh?
Also, if you want to download the mp3, you can do that right here!
And, for your consideration, the text:
Some of the trees wear red.
It’s both the color of your apron
and the apples you baked into a pie.
You don’t remember me
but you remember autumn rain.
You recognize its fragrance,
like a loved one
coming home for a harvest meal,
smelling better than the cinnamon.
When it comes into your open window
(something they still allow
in that gray room of yours),
you sink back,
as far as the crooked bed will allow,
and close your eyes.
You don’t remember me
but you remember the way the autumn rain
felt on your breasts when they were still up high.
How he held your waist
and you could feel the children you’d yet to bear
forming between the space in his two hands.
How you knew it was the right way to be held.
Some things you can’t forget.
The smell of the cool breeze dusk
on the evening that you married each other,
your hearth already baking a treat
your catholic God couldn’t love.
The dusk with a color like pale apples
strewn out in the orchard,
nibbled by anxious deer.
Music came whispering down the hotel hallway
and it sounded like the right music,
the kind that held you in an autumn dusk.
With the window open, nothing held back
the welcoming of maple leaves.
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