Just scribbling
Saturday, July 17, 2010

Shadows play in the corners of the room dancing in the candlelight, a single spider spins her web, each line, each silky string adding to the intricate pattern of her is beautiful, this silken masterpiece, where dew or dust falls on each sticky strand. It sparkles as the draft carries it gently, threatening to push her from the home she had made. Long spindled legs, no thicker than a head pin move like the workings of a well oiled clock, each one knowing where the next one should land, eight perfect timed steps repeated as she surveys the damage done.

Wings flutter, white reflecting, the sound of beating the candle draws, air causing the pillar of light to send even more shadows to sway. She watches waiting, the candle's flame tempting, her front legs gently stroking each other in rampant anticipation. Would she get the coveted prize, or would the flickering flame scorch the very life juices she so desperately craved?

Something stirs the ground, dust clouds rise sending little ghosts across the old church pews. Red and emerald, black and blue, eyes casting a glance toward the flame. Thin fingers dancing, tickling gently as the haunting ivories sing. One by one, notes become melody, right hand playing as the left brings the harmony.She knows the song well, the darkness writing those very notes upon her heart.

Her head gently nods to the hypnotic trance eyes close, the notes like phantoms travel 'cross her eye lids. Each note...each chord flows like silken flesh, controlling her fingers as they dance. Black and white, ebony and ivory, together compelling this soul to wake as the shadows seem to dance in time to the torrent play...

Slowly the sound begins to grow, deliberately brought on by the force of her fingers to the old piano's frame. Entirely immersed in this single moment, no harm come, no hurt ensue as she plays the wood, enamel, and metal...her face reflecting in the dark rich surface.

Scarlett and and blue...surface matters little here. No one...not the spider, the moth, or the shadows care that she isn't perfect, or is the music that paints the picture as the hurt melts away. Where love and hate aren't welcome, where hurt and pain remain hidden behind the wall the solitary sonata has built...

Softly she caresses the keys, the song coming to an end. Fingers still poised, a deep breath brings those memories back, as if they were in the tear, then another splash the ground, the bench, the keys and the world comes back without her wall to protect. Shadows turn to horrors unknown and for a moment she is lost once more...

One by one...the notes become melody, the melody becomes song....Moonlight Sonata begins once more...her fingers playing what her soul so readily and green, black and sapphire, the cycle still goes on. She in comfort finds her freedom, her soul its rest.....and the spider, her meal. One hauntingly beautiful sonata....



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