The major second, the sly cat in the alley. Everybody walks past it but it is not some polite little wrong interval. It’s waiting. It’s the raindrop quivering on the branch, not yet sure it wants to fall. I never paid much attention to it until I started chasing the ghosts in other people’s solos, the great ones. And now I can’t unhear it. Grinning from the corner, showing up everywhere like it owns the joint. Major second says, I can buy you time, I can make more sense and dimension out of the position you just played and that space where you try deciding where to next turn. I can make everything less predictable. My harmonies lean in, they’re listening to a secret.