The Journey Inward

This morning,
She makes music,
Fingers gliding across keys, 
Muscle memory guiding them along.
Recalling the lessons from decades earlier,
Hand position, fingering, forte, pianissimo, andante,
Struggling still to balance mechanics with the beauty of song.

But what are the new lessons here,
The ones that are overshadowing the actual act?
What does the piano know,
That she hasn't paid close enough attention to?

The piano knows
That each hand must play its own part, 
Express itself individually, 
With its own intricacies, complexity, and dynamics,
Whether melody or harmony,
So that together, the lines are a perfect complement to one another.

The piano knows
That differing tempos and dynamics,
Are critical to the interest of the piece,
To the authenticity of its meaning,
To the way it helps the listener connect,
So that they may experience a full range of emotions within.

The piano knows
That the beauty does not lie within the perfection,
But rather within the soul of the player,
The one who lets herself go, is carried by the music,
Lost in its message, embraced by its insistence,
So that she and the listener are transfixed, transported, transformed.

Photo:  Flemington, NJ  12.11.22 by LA