In the sense that Bach needs to be played to be fully alive, the music in these stories does not sound until you read them.Then, you and I and the story make a place, like a teepee on the plains or a yurt in Mongolia, where we are more than we were before. As words rise and fall and the story moves along, we sometimes catch a glimpse of stars, smoke in the night, even northern lights flickering in tune.Thank you for reading. J.M.W. A printed version is available from Fox Print Books.