I remember once hearing a conductor say that he had always, ever since he was a young boy, heard music in his head and that it wasn’t until he was an adult that he realized this was not the same for everyone else. That has been my experience too, but with words and images. And in my conversation with Hisham I saw sunlight on a wall, a woman’s hand, shadows of trees on the ground, a shut window with the sun lighting up the particles that clung to the pane, and I heard the sound of cloth being beaten outdoors, as though someone were airing linen, and the words “together” and “maybe” and “I am.”
