This is a true story, my experience on the days when my fingers just can't drink enough of the sweet nectar known as the piano.
There are some days when the piano just beckons for me, sings my name, almost pulls my fingers towards it's glossy, sleek keyboard top like iron filings to a magnet. On these days, my mind is distracted, I cannot think about anything, anything, except the black and white pieces of ivory on my beautiful piano at home. On these days, my fingers itch and and impatiently fidget around until I remove the dull dust cover off of the instrument, revealing its beautiful smooth finish, expose the keys to my fingers, and poise my hands above the keyboard. It is at this moment when, finally, my fingers will stop fidgeting, and my mind's tension releases. And then...
I play. And I play. And I play. Sparks of electricity shoot through my fingers as my mind dances it's way through Czerny's finger repertoire, bolts of fire shoot out from my toes as they pedal for Faure's Dolly optitude, tears of emotion leak out of my eyes as my fingers connect to Streabogg's Sadness. The syncopated rhythms of Paul Harvey's Rumba Toccata pulse in my ears as my fingers tap out the rhythm. Waves of notes flow delicately in the air as my fingers glide on the semi-quavers of Stephen Heller's Prelude in C. I surface from a Sonatina, and dive into an Etude, ending it in a breath-taking fermatta, running into an Invention and then finishing it all with a Fughetta.
And there ends my musical hy.
I am mentally exhausted, and I am physically tired, sweat dripping off of my forehead and my clothes wet. I am about to put the dust cover back on.
There's one left.
I lift the keyboard cover off of the black and white slice of ecstasy I just took in and sit down on the sturdy mahogany bench once more. I feel my body's molecules tingle again as new found energy makes it's way into my being from my surroundings. Again, I poise my hands over the keyboard. And then again, I play.
I play, and play, and then play again. I play the piece three times. You Are the Moon. I let the soft voice of the piano singing this delicate, starry piece as my body swings in it's slow time, as not only my fingers, feet and mind are playing but my entire entity is singing this elegant, beautiful song, and I can feel every cell in my body dancing gracefully and energetically to the music. Soon, my voice, unable to keep quiet, bursts into song, and even though my voice isn't as melodious as that of the piano, it still gives me more energy.
'Shadows all around you as you
Surface from the dark.
Emerging from the gentle grey
Of night's unfolding arms...'
And I feel more alive than I have ever felt before.
When, for the third time, my fingers press on the last F of the piece, I lift my hands off of the keyboard, and wait, in silence, until this last note slowly drifts away.