A flute steps out over a soft bed of strings, close and airy at the front of the sound.

Beneath the flute, the strings find a steady rolling motion and hold it.

The strings lean in together and the sound puts on weight.

The surge relaxes and the surface smooths out again, thinner than before.

The voice enters near a whisper, even and unhurried, riding just above the roll.

She leans up and holds, the tone thinning and brightening at the top of the range.

She returns and climbs in one unhurried arch, the line opening as it rises.

She opens to the full size of the voice at the top of the range, then leans the phrase past the beat while the accompaniment keeps turning underneath.

After a few bars of orchestra alone, she eases back in — lighter now, more breath in the tone.

Her phrases fall into shorter, lower arcs, the pressure easing out of them.

The orchestra gathers the melody to itself and leans in, the low strings filling out beneath.

A chorus settles in behind the orchestral line — voice mass, wide and quiet, thickening the floor.

Her voice rises back out of the chorus, clear above the mass, the accompaniment lifting with it.

The orchestra surges up to its fullest sound yet, the voices riding the top of it.

In one motion the mass draws back, settling into a warm, sustained bed.

The tune passes into the strings and flows on, smooth and even, the pressure gone out of it.

The chorus returns, soft and spread behind the solo line, and the floor thickens again.

Everything gathers again — the voices pressing forward, more weight underneath with each bar.

She holds the top of the phrase past the beat, the orchestra keeping time beneath the stretch.

The chorus lets go, and the whole mass settles down onto one held, weighted chord.

The voices are gone; the strings are left holding a single chord.

It thins slowly into the room, the last weight draining out of the sound.