A Piano Appeared Today

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Abstract

e, piano themes have emerged. I remember the years spent with Mrs. Reynolds sitting by my side; one on one, giving gentle, loving encouragement; an artist’s paradise. Then one day I found myself at a piano concert; something I haven’t done in years. And today, a piano appeared at my fingertips. Black wood, white keys, the sound of the heavens.I have to face now the bittersweet truth that playing the piano was one of the greatest loves of my life. It’s sweet to discover that lost love again, but bitter to have lost it for so many years.Playing the piano to me was the freedom to put what was inside of me into something mechanical; to convert my inner self into something visible and audible. Playing the piano was strictly mine; I had total control, and playing it m

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y way was something that made me distinct.I loved not only the sounds I could produce but the physical movement of playing. My hands, my arms, my body; such joy I found in manipulating my fingers just so to touch the keys in a precise way to produce a precise sound; such utter pleasure. My fingers moving, rippling, flying; so many technical things happening in such an exact way to produce sounds that move the soul.I soared when I played; flapping, beating my wings, the air on my body.Playing the piano kept me alive through those deadly years, and I believe now that it can bring me back to life. It can wake me from the dead, from my long sleep; it can nourish and feed me. Playing the piano is something my life now depends on.</article></body>

Finding My Long Lost Joy

For the first time in I don’t know how many years, my fingers touched the keys of a piano today. On the soft, delicate keys of a baby grand, whiter than white, I played the first page of a Haydn sonata, probably my favorite piece of all time. In those few moments, one of my great passions was brought back to me.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, piano themes have emerged. I remember the years spent with Mrs. Reynolds sitting by my side; one on one, giving gentle, loving encouragement; an artist’s paradise. Then one day I found myself at a piano concert; something I haven’t done in years. And today, a piano appeared at my fingertips. Black wood, white keys, the sound of the heavens.

I have to face now the bittersweet truth that playing the piano was one of the greatest loves of my life. It’s sweet to discover that lost love again, but bitter to have lost it for so many years.

Playing the piano to me was the freedom to put what was inside of me into something mechanical; to convert my inner self into something visible and audible. Playing the piano was strictly mine; I had total control, and playing it my way was something that made me distinct.

I loved not only the sounds I could produce but the physical movement of playing. My hands, my arms, my body; such joy I found in manipulating my fingers just so to touch the keys in a precise way to produce a precise sound; such utter pleasure. My fingers moving, rippling, flying; so many technical things happening in such an exact way to produce sounds that move the soul.

I soared when I played; flapping, beating my wings, the air on my body.

Playing the piano kept me alive through those deadly years, and I believe now that it can bring me back to life. It can wake me from the dead, from my long sleep; it can nourish and feed me. Playing the piano is something my life now depends on.