- Books, Literature, and Writing»
- Poems & Poetry
Piano Player Song
In the master bedroom, warm sunlight streams through the glass sliders. He sits down on the soft, padded, black stool. Placing his fingers lightly on the familiar ivory keys, he looks outside at the pumpkin-colored berm with waves of grassy, wind-blown green.
Music unfolds: tender minor keys, simple sounds, all grow passionate, flowing from a mysterious place, deep, unseen.
Notes, harmony, melody, mix with the rhythm of a pale-blue sky, undulating with puffy clouds, frog choruses, avian sonatas. And three wild turkeys waddle, preen.
Making music a powerful life mosaic that colors and fills, the piano player just keeps tickling the ivories. Time stands still.
On another day, in another time, he sits on a round, brown oak stool at an ancient, scarred upright piano.
As his eyes drift to the senior audience deeply engrossed in a potluck Valentines’ dinner, he plucks out a honky-tonk number, which parades, struts, shimmers.
The old creaking song morphs into rocking, boogie-woogie jazz that dances, drives, glimmers.
Some seniors applaud; others oblivious hang around. But the piano player doesn’t mind. His fingers continue to embrace the cool, black and white comfort of living, resonating sounds.
Then silence but only a spot. The piano player changes up with a sweet ballad: a bluesy, summertime tune rich, lazy, hot.
On a Sunday in May, he feels a little dizzy from the winding, serpentine road to the Oregon Caves. Parking his black, Hyundai Sonata, he walks up the narrow mountain road to the quaint, log-framed Chateau, surrounded by massive towers of green.
The mountain air is cool, invigorating, musty. One can hear gentle nature music streaming from a waterfall, misty, gutsy.
Entering the Chateau, past the beckoning, smoky fireplace, he sits on a shiny bench at the Kawai grand piano. Removing the red felt from the glistening keyboard, he plays warm love songs.
Some tourists, hikers, visitors are drinking a little wine. Others stop over to place a tip in his brandy snifter sparkling fine.
In quiet, smiling contemplation, he simply allows the music to flow free.
Rich, major 7th chords remind him of sunshine; wild grass and trees; potluck dinners; honky-tonk dance halls; boogie-woogie jazz; love-smiles; avian sonatas; turkeys that preen.
Today and every day, it feels so good to live this song, like grassy waves of wind-blown green.