An Epilogue of Sorts. (THERE WILL BE NO SEQUEL) Set sometime in the distant future.

I can hear the birds chirping and wolves howling. The waves on a beach. The rustle of leaves in the trees when the wind goes through them. The snap of twigs and branches. The wind whistling past.

I can hear the rumbling of thunder. The swift crack of lightening. Water dripping into puddles. A hard long rain. The subtle drip of raindrops falling .

Oh the sweet music. The crescendos and decrescendos. The fortes and pianofortes. The deep pull from a cello from its player. The tinkling of bells. A light flutter from flutes and piccolos. Harmonies, solos, duets, trios, quartets, and orchestras swim around me. The power behind a singer's voices. The strain of drumsticks being broken on the drums. The riffs of guitars and basses being played wonderfully. And the the sweet piano.

I can hear laughs and giggles. Sighs and groans. Oh, how I love those. More importantly I can hear his. His laughter is the sweetest music I have ever heard. His voice miraculous. His grains and moans and sighs are like music.

And I am glad I get to listen to this for the rest of eternity.