CLICK to listen. In the days of cassette tapes, I found myself at Rose Records in Chicago. It stood on Wabash Avenue, at an address I no longer remember. Rose Records has been closed for decades now, closed for longer than I can actually remember. I recall shopping there, when cassette tapes were state of the art: portable music for all of the cool people able to live like 20th Century beings while listening to private music in public spaces. In the days of cassette tapes, I discovered—by pure accident—the compositions of Arvo Pärt. I’d been searching for movie soundtracks; I had to journey past rock-&-roll on the first floor and classical music on the second floor in order to reach the rarified, high-altitude realm of movie scores by the likes of Michael Small, Jerry Goldsmith, James Horner, and Mark Isham. I made it to the third floor, but not before a prolonged stop in the domain of classical music. I saw a poster. I saw a name with dots over the second, major vowel. I saw something of a Russian Orthodox patriarch, dressed in plain 20th-Century gentleman’s wear. I felt curiosity and approached the nearest floor attendant and asked about a composer I knew nothing about. The attendant, a rather elegant man of Spanish origin answered my questions and changed the music already wafting from concealed speakers. He was pleased, I like to think, that someone asked about a living/breathing composer; the attendant (whose name I cannot remember, but I remember his eyes) cued up a stirring, intensely “religious” piece of music by the composer I’d asked about. I decided to forego movie soundtracks that day, and I spent months listening to Te Deum on endless tape-loop-repeat. I spent weeks, learning how to pronounce Arvo Pärt, as correctly as possible. Since a day (with a date I can’t remember) in a music store that isn’t there any more, I’ve kept my eyes and ears open for anything concerning Arvo Pärt. In the years between then and now, I discovered a massive number of his works: interpretations and echoes of interpretations. I’ve heard his spiritual works, and most gloriously, the works from his “Silent Period.” I cannot say that I have a particular “favorite” Arvo Pärt composition. I have many. In a sense, Fraters might stand as my all time favorite Pärt composition, but there are times—especially during stillness, and (yes) silence, that I am drawn to Spiegel Im Spiegel…one piano, one violin, and slow, unwinding pauses. I thought of Spiegel Im Spiegel as I walked (a few weeks ago) with Corey. I “saw” this music on a deserted stretch of Lake Michigan shoreline, a shore marker looming in the distance. I didn’t think consciously of Spiegel Im Spiegel at the time, nor of Fratres. On later inspection of the photo I’d taken, a slow, measured decompression of stillness began to fill my brain. And now, at the sight of snow, a snow-whitened sky, and very little else, I’m reminded of a piano, a violin, and long, slow musical footsteps, stretching endlessly into…well…blissful and still emptiness. As always, thank you for viewing, reading, (listening,) and commenting, and I hope you're all having a great weekend and beginning of a new week.