The Silent Note

There was a song within her that needed to be written but the keys sit silent, the room filled with a void where the music should have been.  Her last album never charted and deep inside she knew she had drifted away from her gospel roots.  She sat there by the window remembering Pastor Brown.  She could see him with his head down, his fingers gently touching the piano keys.  When he leans back and releases the song, singing with his voice powerful and filled with spirit, singing some deep southern roots music.  It was not soon forgotten.

Pastor Brown had left the congregation unexpectedly a few days ago to make his journey across the Jordan River to rest by the distant shore.  She missed him as he was the soul of her music always inspiring and teaching her the little things that made her songs great. The band sat in her studio reading and telling road stories and still the music was silent, the songs unwritten.  The waiting was unbearable to everyone, yet the band would not play a note until her hands hit that first chord on the piano.

She mailed Pastor Brown some music a few days ago that was rejected by her producer as too old-fashioned for the new country music.  She hoped he could bring her songs to life to be her next album.  But Pastor Brown was gone and so were her songs.  She looked at the piano, the keys begging to be touched and the music released, but her fingers would not touch the keys and the emptiness was thick and suffocating.

Around midnight there was a knock upon the door, and she walked with a lifelessness toward the closed door.  Her steps were loud on the wood floor echoing through the studio making her band look up expectantly.  When she opened the door, a brown envelope was laying by the door with her name written across it boldly in black ink.  She looked out into the deserted streets and seeing no one she closed the door with a loud bang.

She went and sat down on the piano bench running her fingers over the brown envelope and finally tearing it open and pulling out a photo of her and Pastor Brown sitting together on a stool playing to the congregation heads back, singing to the rafters.  She pulled out the sheet music and saw a note written in his elegant script.  If you get this envelope, I am gone but the music lives on within you.  It is not my music but yours that needs to be played.

She turned toward the piano gently placing her trembling hands on the keys, feeling them vibrate and hum, one note, two then she started tapping her foot and the music came, she sang like the little girl standing on the banks of the river, singing Pastor Brown home so he could sing with the angels.  One by one the band came out plugged in and they made a joyful sound.  She was back home in the little white church singing to the heavens.

Point Of View

Often the music within us becomes silent. The words, notes, and chords seem unwilling to be released.  They weigh heavy upon our spirit needing us to sing or hit that first note so they can become a song.  The silent note can come from a fear that we have lost what once was second nature and it may take something that touches our soul deeply for our hand to play that note and our song to reach the rafters.  When it does it will be beauty beyond imagination.

As writers, it is true that we honestly don’t know what we hold within us until we unleash it. When our words inspire others only then will inspiration return to the writer.


Larry Tyler
Larry Tyler
Awaken the possibilities … then unleash them. After 55 years of successful retail management, I have returned to my passion of writing. I write Poetry, Storytelling, and Short Stories. As a child, I grew up on front porch storytelling. I would sit and listen to my Dad and his brothers tell these great stories that were captivating, and I always wanted to hear more. I wanted to experience the things they talked about. I started writing at a young age and reading everything I could get my hands on. At twelve years old I started a storytelling group and several of my friends became writers or poets. At 16 I hopped box cars and worked the tobacco fields, orange groves, picked cotton, and spent many nights around a campfire listing to life stories. Someone once asked me why I wrote. It consumes an amazing amount of time and I assure you it is not going to make me rich. I write so that my children can touch and feel my words telling of the ones that came before us and the stories they told me. These are the chronicles of our family and even though they come from my childhood memories and are deeply rooted in a child’s remembrance at least they may feel what it was like in the time before them and cherish the things the elders left behind. I am a Columnist & Featured Contributor, BIZCATALYST360 and I have The Writers Café, a group on LinkedIn that features Poets, Writers, Artists, Photographers, and Musicians . On Facebook I have two groups and one page; Dirt Road Storytelling, From Abandoned To Rescue Dogs And Cats, and About Life, Love And Living. As writers, it is true that we honestly do not know what we hold within us until we unleash it. When our words inspire others only then will inspiration return to the writer. I will spend my twilight years in search of the next story, the next poem, and the next image. I will take the time to enjoy my Wife, our Dogs, and Cats, and our amazing new home and I will always find the time to walk down a dirt road I truly hope is that I never have to read another book on Leadership, be on a conference call or see another plan o gram as these were the tool for what I did in life and not about who I am.

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  1. What an awe-inspiring article here, my Dear Friend, Guide, and Mentor! You hit the hammer on the head with the all-important fact of a writer’s life: “As writers, it is true that we honestly don’t know what we hold within us until we unleash it. When our words inspire others only then will inspiration return to the writer.”

    Thank you brother, for this great message that also serves as a reminder that a writer’s existence is there only so long he/she has an appreciative audience.

  2. Larry,
    This is so beautifully written. Such a good lesson to us all. I have been writing since I was a young child. My father was my biggest inspiration!! He fell ill unexpectedly when I was 19 and I stopped writing for years. Eventually, I got married and my then husband became my muse.