Fluid motion pricks at the tip of my fingers. Muscle memory tapping at my hands. Nails flying daintily over a soft instrument. Chords and lullabies carress the air and solid fingers breathe life into a brown wooden basket. Music floating, sighing, singing from somewhere within me. From a soul only a piece of cut out bark can bring forth. Do you hear that? The sound of love and simple joy this instrument brings me. A bow that grows with every stroke, every note growing stronger, more passionate, until the atmosphere turns into something else. Some vibrant space only metal strings and wooden bows can make appear. The corse vibrato echoing in my ear as I smile and walk away from a silver stand and a shady violin.