" The wind announces itself through my open bedroom window. Sheet music is blown face down onto my floor, but the birds outside sing it from memory. Accompanying them are four steady-sounding knocks on my door, very evenly spaced, about mezzo-piano, my mom must be practicing drums too.
"Let's leave now, so we get a good view for the parade," my mom adds lyrics through the closed door. "

― Patrick R.F. Blakley , Drummond: Learning to find himself in the music