Silences
The sounds of the woods around us became muted, as if there was life in the trees and meadows, but only a fraction of what had been. I could swear we had less thunder storms rolling overhead, less color in the sunsets. After she walked on, you moved the piano to rot by the back stairs in place of teaching me to play or trying to sooth your soul. I still cry when I hear Beach or Gershwin.
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“you moved the piano to rot by the back stairs” gets my attention!
Doesn’t it, though? My friend Ann Leshy Wood spoke of an abandoned house near hers, and seeing “on the back porch an old player piano rotted but still standing.”