A Short Piece

She plays. Clumsy fingers and yellowed keys combine to create an incessant bashing—enough to make the devilish hound in the adjoining block sit dumbfolded, lifting its nose to the clouds in a distressed howl and the birds fly away to hide. Yet it does not stop as discord following discord brings shivers down the spines of those who cover their ears in vain.

He plays. The lyrical melody of the night floats into the moonshine. Mothers sleep soundly as they listen to the beautiful harmonies, for they know their babies will be safe tonight. All around, people lie down to the sound of slender hands, caressing the keys, and they listen for the soothing cadence.