"Voices Echo Softly"

It is time to leave. The long corridor stretches before you — silent, patient, filled with echoes. The air is warm from the day, but the shadows are cool and familiar.

Rooms line the path, like chapters in a book you’ve read long ago, but never fully understood. Each holds its own whisper, its own light, its own silence.

The voices of the past are not loud, but they are present. They rise from the walls, from the floor, from the light slipping through the cracks. They walk with you, like shadows made of light, like thoughts that refuse to fade.

You move slowly, not from weariness, but from respect. Each step touches a memory, and every wall holds a piece of your story. Sometimes you pause — not to linger, but to listen.

At the end of the corridor, the echo fades. It grows quiet, like a song forgetting itself. But it remains — not in the walls, but within you. And you walk on, with voices that have become part of your silence.

Voices Echo Softly

🎶 "When Thoughts Fall Silent"
A quiet opening: The piano feels its way through stillness, each note like a step inward. The cello answers with warm, resonant depth — two voices creating a space where thoughts no longer press forward, but slowly fade.

The clarinet rises gently, not to lead, but to breathe alongside. It weaves between the tones like a distant breeze brushing past forgotten memories. Gradually, the violins appear — weightless, translucent — until time itself seems to dissolve into sound.

The piece remains restrained, yet filled with inner richness — a moment in which everything is said without a single word. A soundscape of stillness, longing, and quiet release.

When Thoughts Fall Silent

🌊 "Intermezzo No 1" – A Whisper of Time 
A single note emerges – the piano, like a first step on damp sand. Tentative, searching, it carries silence within, as if listening for echoes of days gone by. The clarinet rises like a breath of wind sweeping across the sea, its voice filled with longing – for what was, and what never fully fades. Then the cello enters: deep and tender, like waves arriving, breaking, and in their retreat, erasing footprints, scattering thoughts. Thus the melody becomes a mirror of memory – melancholic, fleeting, beautiful. A walk along the shore of time, where every sound is a lost moment, and every pause a quiet farewell.

Intermezzo No. 1

🌙 “The Garden of Lost Dreams”

In the twilight of memory lies a garden, woven from fleeting melodies and forgotten hues. Here, dreams once radiant still bloom — gently stirred by the wind of time.

The music is a quiet step on moss-covered ground, a whisper among the branches of longing. The piano scatters silver droplets into the silence, like dew upon the leaves of faded thoughts. The clarinet exhales shadows of voices long gone, and the cello carries the stillness only the heart can comprehend.

“The Garden of Lost Dreams” is not a place — it is a state of the soul, an echo of what might have been. A soundscape of hope and transience, slowly dissolving into mist, yet never fully fading.

The Garden of Lost Dreams

🎼 The Gentle Breath of Passing Time
From the cycle “The Rose Garden Fantasies”

Like the last ray of sunlight shimmering in the dew upon rose petals, this composition unfolds in the most delicate lines of sound. The melodies drift through the air like silken threads – barely tangible, carried by the wind, fleeting yet woven with memory.

Between shimmering harmonies and filigree motifs, a fine fabric of music emerges – one that does not lament transience, but embraces it tenderly. It is the quiet threshold where summer takes its leave: warmth fades, while the first heralds of autumn glimmer in scattered sparks of sunlight and in the whisper of the wind.

Each tone gently releases itself from silence, dissolves in the breath of time, and leaves behind a trace of light in the shadow of the blossom. The music becomes a soft dialogue between presence and remembrance – like a rose petal drifting away, and a fragrance that lingers.

The Gentle Breath Of Passing Time

An Afternoon at the Fair
From the very first notes, a gate to another world opens: piano, cello, clarinet, and flute rise together – like a colorful fair that, in one instant, reveals all its voices, colors, and scents. Soon after, strings and oboes join, and the sound gains depth, as if new paths, stalls, and attractions unfold before the listener’s eyes.
Though rooted in F-sharp minor, the music carries a mysterious shimmer. Between sparkling vitality and quiet melancholy, a tension arises that makes the beauty of transience audible. Behind every cheerful motif lies the gentle reminder that no moment lasts forever – and it is in this fleetingness that its true beauty is found.
The piano is the pulse of the afternoon, sometimes bright, sometimes restrained, while the cello grounds the walk through the crowd with its depth. The clarinet swirls playfully, like the laughter of children, while the flute dances lightly, like a carousel spinning in the sunlight. Strings and oboes expand the picture – they give space to the scene, blending colors together and letting memories take shape.
What emerges is a small cosmos: a musical stroll across the fairground, filled with fleeting joy, carried by wonder, touched by melancholy. And in the end, the music does not break off, but fades like evening settling over the square – a soft afterglow in which lights dim, voices drift away, and yet an echo remains in the heart.

An Afternoon at the Fair

The music begins like the last warm breath of summer. The piano draws fine lines across the calm skin of the water; the cello answers in deep melancholy, singing of falling leaves. A clarinet drifts in like a breath that carries memories, and above it the flute hovers—a light losing itself in the mist.

Autumnal, yet not somber: it is a time of change. What is old passes away in gold, the new still lies hidden. The music paints this transition—gently, tentatively, full of longing and quiet confidence. Harmonies dissolve, time stretches, until everything comes to rest in a silent moment.

Then, almost inaudibly, a new sound begins. The flute lifts, the piano opens the space, and the lake seems to whisper: the morning is ready.

The Quiet Whisper Of The Lake at Dawn

A quiet transition: The music begins like light touching water—tentative, fleeting, almost uncertain. Lines unfold gently, as if the day were saying goodbye not with finality, but with a lingering thought. Sounds rise, drift, return—like wind moving through trees without asking to stay.

This is no dramatic sunset, but a fading. Harmonies dissolve, rhythms slow, until everything settles into a moment of stillness. An evening that doesn’t begin, but yields—like a memory that warms without asking.

When Day Falls Into Evening

🕊️ Where The Birds Gather Before Their Passage South
The leaves wear their late-season glow, mist drapes the fields like breath, and the first birds begin to gather — circling in silence above the treetops, readying themselves for the long journey south. It is a moment of transition: summer has faded, the day leans into dusk, and the wind begins to whisper of distant warmth.

The music follows this quiet movement, not with haste, but with remembrance. Its sounds unfold like light dissolving into stillness — gentle, breathing, full of foreboding. What fades does so not abruptly, but like a thought slowly slipping away. And as all things retreat into slumber, a long sleep begins — not as an end, but as a promise: that something will return, when the time is right.

Where The Birds Gather Before Their Passage South

As Wolf Hagen, I compose music for the silence between the notes. Drawing from the tradition of great masters like Bach and Pachelbel, I find inspiration to weave baroque clarity with the emotional complexity of our time.
The interplay of piano and cello stands at the heart of my work – two voices that complement, challenge, and exist in harmonic tension with each other. I add orchestral elements with care, never to dominate, but to open spaces: for reflection, for stillness, for those precious moments of pause.
My compositions are not statements, but invitations – to discover hidden emotions, to find quiet in a noisy world.