Different kinds of music

they are my fingers on a face
~Frame the Clouds, Christa Wells~

My father plays his music on guitar.

My mother dances her, sings her, shakes it out with her tambourine.

My baby brother sings in a husky tenor unabashed.

And my Father in heaven?
Sometimes His music is in the golden yellow - my favorite color -
of a muted photo.

Today it was a symphony of suffering.
Amy has been having seizures, because she has a fever and head cold.
I slipped and fell and may have a hairline fracture on my femur 
- the big bone in my thigh -
(whatever it is, I can't bear weight on it and it hurts like, well, you know...)

Off to bed.
Hoping for a sweeter serenade tomorrow.