The Lady that Played Piano
By Silver Spun Sand
Tue, 16 Feb 2016
- 1661 reads
6 comments
A potted palm sits, stalwart, atop her piano; an ancient upright –
unquestionably seen better days...taking me back in time
to some erstwhile ‘sepia age’; she, and the more than dated
White Cliffs Hotel, on the sea-front at Dover; me, him, and kids
channel hopping on route to a petit sojourn en France.
Each year we went, making bets as to whether or not the lady
that played piano had ‘popped her clogs’ yet...Irreverent,
I know, but we meant no harm...just a bit of holiday magic
family fun.
Fingers, bent and arthritic...stumbled a touch...stuttered, then
lovingly stroked the keys, as they trembled like a bird’s wing;
hesitant to land on a quavering branch lest it should snap.
Her pizzazz had got up and gone, but on the other hand
her sostenuto – wistful...like wind whispering through
the pines, was to almost die for, and the tune fair ached
with a longing to be true to itself. Yet those scattered
remnants of a melody, she’d half remembered, half forgot –
more telling than whatever it was foolish enough
to think it was.
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Comments
so much more to playing music
so much more to playing music than technical correctness, portions played with feeling can communicate beautifully. Rhiannon
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1 User voted this as great feedback
In Nottingham there used to
In Nottingham there used to be a street busker, a guy. He played the xylophone. He reminded me of a spider monkey. This raised memories of him somehow. Some soft language here that conveys not only a moment but sounds of nostalgia,
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The waning of life as time
Permalink Submitted by loquaciousicity on
The waning of life as time goes on...
Poignant!!
Terry
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