A still life I composed in memory of my late father. A mother of pearl snail shell box where I keep a lock of his curly silver hair atop a stack of mixed tapes. Heavily in rotation for our long scenic drives in his 80s BMW, where the journey was always just as good as the destination. The gold crescent moon my mom gifted him two years before I was born. A cold glass of orange juice, lots of pulp. 
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