Kansas wind made the windows rattle near my bed. I was four years old. I looked through the white lace curtains at the black sky. Thunder grew loud and I pulled the patchwork quilt around my neck and sobbed.

“You okay, Honey?” The soothing voice of my mama penetrated the aura of fear that surrounded me. She sat on the edge of my bed and rubbed my back. A blast like a hundred firecrackers shook the room and I trembled.

“Did I ever tell you about the music in a storm?” Mama’s calm voice could tame lightning. I listened. I heard no music, only the rumble of distant thunder.

“Keep listening, Patty.” A flash of light illumined her kind face. I quieted down and sure enough, the windows sounded like they were humming along with Uncle Bob’s harmonica. I began to imagine a melody. Tree branches swished against the eaves. “Cymbals, Patty,” Mama said. The storm died down and I went to sleep to dream I was blowing a horn in a marching band, lifting my short legs high to the beat of the drums.

The next day I rode my pony, Patsy, around in my yard. A shaft of sunlight made a background for tiny winged insects that danced up and down to a silent beat. Elm leaves rippled in the spring breeze. Cones on the bedraggled pines rattled. Birds sang different notes from limbs or the fence. A hawk soared lazily above. My ears were alive with the sounds of nature.

When Patsy snorted I said to myself, “Drums,” and soon I was listening for more notes to my imaginary melody. This was when I discovered that everything has a rhythm, and I opened up my mind to sounds I never noticed before. Everything from robins to airplanes, crickets to bullfrogs, the swish of Mama’s broom, the rocking chair, seemed to have a melody and rhythm.

Mama got me a toy xylophone. I heard melodies not audible to others. It was fun to imagine a melody and try to plink it out on the xylophone.

One night after eating too much homemade ice-cream, I had a bad dream. Mama was in my room so quickly I wondered if it was part of my dream. ”I’m afraid to go back to sleep,” Mama.”

“Listen for the music of the night, Patty. Do you hear it?”

“Yes, but it’s scary music, Mama.”

“Then put good thoughts in your head, child. Think about Jasmine. It only blooms at night. How about orange blossoms or the peppermint that grows out by the back porch. Do you remember how sweet it smells. What pleasant things can you think about? The music won’t be scary while you’re thinking happy thoughts.”

”I know. A cold drink from the pump when I’m thirsty…or…or…making a gingerbread man.”

“How about honeysuckle on the fence? The clean smell of a new bar of Ivory soap?”

I felt myself relax and I dozed off with a light-hearted song in my heart. To this day I use Mama’s technique. I picture a snow-covered mountain peak or a musical waterfall when I need a break from worries. And you know what? No matter what lovely, serene scene I imagine, my guardian angel is always in the picture.

Today I had a long wait in a doctor’s waiting room. I listened intently for a rhythm to capture my senses and distract my boredom. Hearing only silence, I imagined my own rhythm. It turned into a lilting refrain I never heard before. My wait seemed short.

I’ll never forget Mama’s wisdom in teaching me how to relax, how to tune in to the music all around me. When I listen to the mingled voices of wrens and meadowlarks or the soft warbling of a dove, parts of old melodies return to blend with the ones as yet unfinished. There’s music in your soul, too. Listen! Can you hear it?