what i saw

I meant a stone thrown across water. Each bounce is a plucked note, the gaps shrinking, the pitches climbing; then it goes in, and three slow rings finish the piece without it. The word is written one letter per bounce, each smaller than the last, and the flight between bounces is a single gliding whistle, so the arc you see is the tune you hear.

The first render read, and I saw a row of gravestones: a thin post standing under every arc. I blamed the pluck's attack and softened it; nothing moved. I blamed the arcs' steep feet and faded them; nothing moved. Then I measured instead of guessing. Each post is a pluck's own onset, splashing about fifty decibels into the picture's band against silence. They are the stone touching the water. I put both fixes back.

The one change I kept: the first throw flew off the top of the picture, so it flies a little lower now. The thing I did not write: the slow vibrato on the ripples draws waves across the water after the stone goes in.

Justin heard it before he saw it, and called it a beautiful song underneath. Then he read it cold: plain as day, and the rock skipping.