All the different sounds around us is a matter of great significance.It effects our lives, depending of time, place and circumstance, how we perceive, how we are affected, how we deal with it; we continue our track based on the point of recognition of the reality, as a matter. I had finished my daily practicing on my repertoire for the next piano recital tour and enjoyed the calm sitting in my garden. Sunset. The sun cast golden rays on the magnificent  kaleidoscope of my  flowers, gentle breeze spread intoxicating fragrance of the lilies all around me. Dusk. A golden rim accented the tall cedars casting long shadows on the patio. I closed my eyes and let my pleasant memories wrap around me like a soft blanket, which will protect me  from the usual unpleasant and hurtful memories of the dire times during my plight as a refugee of WW ll. Many decades have passed, I was just a small girl, still many wounds are surfacing without any warning. This evening I sat and enjoyed the grandeur of our beautiful autumn, listening to the tape from my last performance; it took me back to a delightful, winter concert tour with some colleagues. At this moment, Harmony vs. Cacophony came into the picture. We had to take the train, all flight and bus travel had been cancelled due to the severe snow storm day before. On this trip a special car was arranged for our comfort and practicing. The ensemble consisted of three vocalists, two string players and me, the pianist. We settled into our comfortable seats as the train started on our journey throughout northern Ontario, Canada. The tracks were cleared just enough for the train to get through. It felt like plowing through a mountain of snow, all we could see was a white wall on either side; without premonition we set off to an extended haul. The sound of the engine and the odd whistle, created monotony. Thanks to our bass colleague, an adroit debater, matters changed. The time passed  faster listening to his endless jokes and stories. Not anticipating the snow storms that continued for several days, the train had no food on board. I was the youngest and treated with great care, our Bass had a chocolate bar and insisted that I accept a half. Lucky me. The lights were dimmed, I was going to get ready to retire; as I passed the bathroom, I noticed our Bass steering one sock around the filled sink. A bit puzzled I ask why only one sock. Answer ” I washed the other yesterday,” well….we musicians live by our own logic, I guess. We all retired. All was peaceful, the monotony of the engines was overpowered by the thunderous snoring by the golden bass that had brought countless opera-audiences a joy, now entertained us with his powerful snoring, he always stayed on pitch! Our tiny Soprano kept running through the car, practising her recitatives, complaining that she cannot sleep, the accompaniment of the snoring didn’t seem to please her, the Baritone stopped by her, shook his head and retired. Her crystal-clear coloratura soprano was so brilliant that I feared it would shatter the windows covered with a thick layer of ice, hopefully her beautiful voice will melt the ice off. A soothing passage from the other end filled the air as the violinist practiced Brahms. A mysterious cloud started to drift through our car, the cellist kept puffing on his cigar all through the night. Eventually, fatigue set in, and I nodded off. It had been a challenging day, laced with delightful harmony. A distant rumble of the familiar drumbeats of the war ended my dreams  in discord. The tranquility changed to a raging tempest, changing all into a diabolic, relentless fury. The war had ended some decades ago, leaning irrevocable mark on my life. I will, I must keep my power of endurance, I will survive, I have my shell to protect me from being destroyed.- I woke up as the train stopped at the station, stepped on the platform and kept moving toward the concert hall.