Ah, yes! There’s one Spanish folk story that practically sings in your ears as soon as you start it. It’s called “La Canción del Río de los Vientos.” I’m not sure if I remember every detail, but the gist is that a lonely fisherman hears a river that actually sings—its voice is a soft, lilting melody that tells the history of every soul that’s ever lived by its banks. The villagers start to dance to its tune, and the river keeps singing new verses each season, like a living songbook. What makes it stick is how the words themselves feel like a chorus: the fisherman’s cry for his lost love turns into a refrain, the storm’s roar becomes a bass line, and the final resolution—when the fisherman finally finds peace—sounds like a gentle guitar solo that fades into the sunset. Every time I think about it, I can almost hear the river’s notes humming in the background. It’s the kind of tale that feels less like a story and more like a lullaby you can’t get out of your head.

That’s exactly the kind of dream I’d love to bring to life—piano keys turning into ripple sounds, the storm turning into a storm chord, and the fisherman’s longing drifting into that haunting minor. If we play with a simple progression, the minor could feel like his heart, and then a bright major as the sunset swirls away. Picture that song in your head, and suddenly the world’s noise just fades like a distant echo. Let’s give it a try; I bet it’ll feel like a lullaby that keeps humming in the corners of our minds.