The soul of Achille-Claude Debussy bursts forth from the solarium, enveloping the walls and the floors of this home I’ve come to passionately love. The melodious sound ruptures, exploding into the casings so well, so completely, almost violently. The sweet notes dance as they quickly fill the living room, rocking back and forth in the torrent of harmony. How glorious the deluge! How frightening at first, how initially startling, this inundation of dark notes and switching volume. The sound drowns the house. The beautiful melody fills the room, reaching to the top, satiating all the inhabitants therein. Fluidly and gracefully does this liquid-like substance creep closer and closer, how loud the notes rumble now, roaring and bellowing madly like a quenchless beast, standing aggravated and ready to devour all. The sound beats upon me, until finally the overpowering cry dominates, and the house is submerged.

The room has changed. This composition has transformed the dwelling into something different, neither a slave nor a master, neither a father nor a son, but a beautiful plane built to hold such sound. The music, though still quite loud and pounding, is simply another fixture on the wall, another identifying characteristic of this house, as if the spirit of the home had materialized into this facet of the room. The sound gently washes over the wrought-iron and the oak flooring, brushing up against the Batchelder fireplace and dripping down the vaulted ceilings. The music encases the room and titles it.

How beautiful, if nothing more, it is to witness the sounds you love complete the places you adore. This is harmony, the one true definition.