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Strings

Across my room lies an instrument waiting to be played. It is waiting for my hand to wrap around its neck. It is waiting for me to grasp the bow that has freshly added rosin. There my instrument waits.

My viola waits for five years, each four instruments eagerly sitting at home resting in the black velvet-covered case. I finally have time to practice today. My viola plays a concert “A” in excitement. I play Bouree from Cello Suite No.3 in C Major by Johann Sebastian Bach. My fingers dance across the black fingerboard.

After about an hour of practicing, I close my instrument away. I zip my music books into a case pouch. “Until next time,” I silently say to the instrument. Then I think to myself, gut, horse hair and wood can make such wonderful things.




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