From Mozart to Schubert to Mendlessohn:  these last few weeks have been filled with numerous musician birthdays.  Their contributions to music and the enriching of the human adventure have been singular and vast.  Born into a Jewish family (although his father separated himself from Judaism before Felix was born) and later baptized as a Christian, Felix Mendelssohn composed in a wide range of genres, choral to orchestral to chamber to operatic, each work distinguished by its melody, passion, and attention to detail.  Some of his most famous, and most recognizable, works include "Hark, the Herald Angels Sing," 

"Overture to a Midsummer Night's Dream," and the "Wedding March."  He was acknowledged as a prodigy early in his life, most notably by Goethe, writer of the timeless story of Faust.  People found his music uniquely captivating.
     As I think about Mendelssohn, I realize, again, the remarkable fact of music in this adventure we call life.  To form sound, to frame melody, to write song:  there is nothing quite like these in all the cosmos.  Our ability to visualize (as Paul McCartney once said, "I see the music in my head") and compose music mirrors, mirrors as both reflection and extension of the marvel of existence, the capacity of the universe to express itself in sound.  Unbidden, unsought, the universe speaks to us every moment of every day.  It's never totally silent.
     Before composers like Mendlessohn, we can therefore only weep in amazement, astonished that we understand the fact of melody and sound, and that we can emulate, albeit in shattered form, the timeless and ageless marvel of that which empowers and expresses what is.