“I am Music — most ancient of the arts. I am more than ancient; I am eternal.”

This is the beginning of an essay that was included in the program of one of my choral concerts years ago. Its author wasn’t listed, and so it seemed almost as if it was simply “Music” expressing itself. After all, it begins with “I am Music” and continues to refer to itself in the first person. I rather like the idea that “Music” is its own entity from ancient times and that it is speaking to us as it has since the beginnings of our existence. I did some research, however, and found that it was originally written by Allan C. Inman in May 1950.

May is concert month for me. I sing with both the West Bay Chorale in Warwick and the Rhode Island Civic Chorale and Orchestra in Providence. Between both groups, we perform three spring concerts, all in May. My days and evenings in May are filled with music and singing as we rehearse and prepare. And I love every minute of it — from the first rehearsal right through to the end as concert time approaches, when we start working with the soloists and the instrumentalists. I love the challenge of learning the music — which takes practice time at home, too, listening to recordings and playing my alto lines on the piano between weekly rehearsals. And the progress we make week to week leading up to our concerts is gratifying and exciting.

There’s something that stirs from deep within our souls when we combine our voices, along with strings, winds, and other instruments to produce beautiful music together. The harmonies we create seem ancient and eternal — as if they’re as old as time itself.

It’s a privilege to share works of the great composers with our audiences. We bring to life musical notes that were in someone’s mind before being etched onto paper long ago somewhere in history. And it’s the same with all of our music — from all the different genres and time periods that we present. Whether it’s Mendelssohn’s “Elijah” or “Scarborough Fair” — the music fills our souls and flows into the souls of our audiences.

The essay continues, “I am a necessary luxury to all…”

My cousin, Janet, is an artist and designer and is very well-versed in the visual arts but had never done any singing beyond what we all experienced in elementary school. A few years ago, she asked about my singing and wondered if she could join one of my choruses. Janet sings with me in our alto section now and recently told me that it’s something she’d never want to give up — that it’s a beautiful and fulfilling expression of a part of her that she never quite knew existed. Music is “a necessary luxury” indeed.

But the essay also touches on another type of music beyond the collection of notes and chords we’re used to hearing. There is music in the universe.

It says, “Even before life commenced upon the earth, I was here — in the winds and the waves.”

The birds wake us up early on spring and summer mornings. Listening to their songs is like listening to perfectly composed music, with rhythm, tempo, and pitch changes. There are crescendos and decrescendos as the various birds fly in and out through the trees — as if their singing is being conducted by a celestial director.

There is music in the wind, the flowers, and the trees. We can sometimes hear the wind whistling, but watching the branches, leaves, and plants nod and sway to their internal rhythms appeals to us visually, too. It’s as if they are dancing to an invisible orchestra — to music only the trees and flowers can hear.

There is music in the sounds of the ocean waves crashing. Never-ending — sometimes wild, fierce, and loud — sometimes quiet, pensive, and calm.

The sounds of the peep toads and night-time insects lull us to sleep in spring and in summer — creating their own style of music. We’re reminded that nature is all around us, carrying on as it has done since the beginning of time, as sure as the moon and the stars appear and the sun goes on its journey — no matter what is happening in the world.

And there is also music in the sounds of our lives. In the voices of our children and grandchildren. In the sounds of someone making dinner — with pots and pans clanging and silverware clattering. In the sounds of a car pulling into the driveway as we sigh with gratitude for the safe arrival of a loved one returning home. There’s even music in the plunk of tennis balls and the laughter of my friends as we get together to spend weekly tennis time on the courts.

The essay continues, “I became the most delicate, most subtle, and most powerful medium for the expression…of emotions. I speak to all…in a language that all understand. Even the deaf hear me, if they but listen to the voices of their own souls.”

Music connects us. It touches our hearts and through music we can share what our hearts want to say.

The essay ends with “I am the food of love. I have taught gentleness and peace…I comfort the lonely, and I harmonize the discord of crowds.”

Music is everywhere and speaks to us in so many ways — all we have to do is listen.