Natalia’s wrinkled, spotty hands fluttered over the piano keys like a butterfly dancing on the breeze. Elegant, beautiful, serene, the sound of the aging instrument felt like a long lost friend. Her favorite was The Seasons by Tchaikovsky. Each movement… Continue Reading
There was no way we’d reach the next town before nightfall. Hunter was shuffling through the leaves, eyes half-closed, muttering curses to himself. We’d have to spend the night among the trees. Our music would have kept us safe, but… Continue Reading
The kid across the courtyard was driving me mad. He kept playing the same annoying ragtime song over and over every day since quarantine began. I’d tried ignoring it, but it didn’t work — I couldn’t even hear myself think… Continue Reading
The sports car came to a stop in front of my house, tires screeching. Joel angrily leapt out and dashed across the grass toward the front door where I stood. “Come on in,” I called out confidently. “My parents aren’t… Continue Reading
Silas was the son of a watchmaker, but although he dutifully followed his father’s craft, he dreamed of becoming a musician instead. By day he toiled in the workshop, greasing gears, replacing springs and calibrating the minute mechanisms of the… Continue Reading
“Anton, listen to me. You won’t get anywhere like this.” Herr Hoffmann looked over my shoulder at the notes I was composing and sighed. “The salons of von Genzinger want something new. Your five-finger piano exercises use tunes from twenty… Continue Reading
It was a Bush that my grandfather received as a present back in 1958. It was housed in an expensive wooden cabinet with dials for volume, treble and bass, piano keys to switch between the bands, and a needle moving… Continue Reading
“Autumn Sweater” plays. And there we are, sitting, existing, in this space whose size we cannot know. And it’s a cliché, but clichés sprout from truth, and that’s a heavy truth that just sits there unless you do something with… Continue Reading
Through the hazy watercolor of a child’s memory, those months stand out with clarity even into my ninth decade. They start with the bombs dropping in the village streets. Even a child couldn’t mistake the bone-shaking howl, the blinding flashes… Continue Reading
After a week, a small band of followers started to gather at the bottom of the hill each morning to listen to Barbara’s magnificent voice. She took to wearing a bird-like mask to preserve her anonymity. When these supplicants asked… Continue Reading