The Galaxy Sings in B Flat

The galaxy sings in B flat.

Fifty-seven octaves below middle C, hundreds of thousands of tiny stars with little worlds trailing atmospheres in elliptical orbits.  Double-star systems, triple-star, more; planets, civilisations, dark matter, tangible matter, all circling, swarming, humming together in one enormous note, not bumping together but carrying a wave from the centre of their island universe, expanding out into space…

Sound cannot exist in a vacuum.  This is a widely known fact.  And space is a vacuum, sure.  But only when you look at it from here, from our tiny little world.  Close your eyes, zoom out, and look at the celestial spheres from their view; and space isn't so thin after all.  Close your eyes, zoom in, and even our dense atmosphere is just atoms in a vacuum of their own.  Sound as we know it, sure, that doesn't exist outside our little stardust orb.  It's too small, too fragile.  Too like ourselves.

But where there's movement and things to move, there's sound.  Sound waves can be small, only a few thousand nanometres trough-to-crest.  And they can be massive, playing the celestial music of the spheres.  Because in all that movement, the pulses of our discs and and lights and gravity wells, the stars dance.  We are sound, the particles that carry a wave thousands of light-years across.

We are the music of the celesial spheres.

The galaxy sings in B flat.