He stands at the crossroads
listening to all the sounds
the anticipation of the crowd
the overheard pleading of a lover
and from each branching road
a brass band marching
the dense vibrance of gospel song
swaggering ragtime
and a lone piper from the north.
Anyone else would focus on one sound
but he blends the whole
submitting to an overlapping aural feast
knowing that this mingling of disparate tempi and tuning
will create a new music.
All through the night he sits at his worn wooden desk
pencilling a symphonic script
built from the sounds of the day.
The resulting collage
is so like the stochastic music that the city composers create
from the computer generated random distributions.
In the morning
the clouds make temporal patterns
and the apples are fallen around the tree.
This beautiful aleatoric autumn.


6 old applause
