The smell of stale paper and waxed wood greets me.

An avalanche of dust and creme is thrown into the light with a flick of my wrist.

The slight creak of the wood bench is a friendly welcome.

I breathe in the unveiled, beautiful creature in front of me.

Then I reach out my hands... and begin to play.

My eyes are darting back and forth, I only see an illusion of black, white, and flesh.

My mind doesn't know where to look.

But my God, what a sound.

Each blur of flesh produces a new rumbling chord.

The black and white mix in perfect balance, as my fingers begin to race.

A warm blanket of music swallows me alive,

It takes me somewhere far away.

And I willingly go.

The world slows down as the sound becomes rich; the steel lines trembling inside.

Everything seems to want to stop and listen to the controlled chaos emanating from my hands.

On and on I create my own soundtrack, until I see the sun begin to set.

I pause... and one by one the vibrations stop.

I caress the black and white pieces gently, not disturbing the lines now at rest.

The avalanche rises and embraces the instrument once more, with care and purpose.

Dust settles, abd the wooden bench squeaks again...

But this time, 'tis a reluctant goodbye