Bayou Blue
It was the beginning of spring. The flowers were in bloom, the bees were buzzing and the warblings of the song birds pervaded, spreading universal joy.
I stood among the soft lighting and the luxurious upholstered furniture, head bowed listening to him play the piano. His handsome face, full of passion. His body motions, graceful and affected by the lovely melancholy melody he was producing.
The awareness of the human hand as it finds it's own hot center, teaching itself color, playing from the heart; that's what the best musicians do.
I suddenly understood how art could emerge from silence. I saw what it meant to merge with one's work, to discover that each musical arrangement, each harmony, is an expression of the beauty within the artist's soul.
Curtains held their breath against sweet nostalgia as the ecstatic pressure of his pleasure flickered around the piano keys, lost in the richness of submergence.
