His fingers are limber as they dance across the keys, alighting first on ivory then gliding to ebony. Occasionally the fluid motion of his cavorting phalanges is punctuated by the sharp tap of a staccato note or a graceful leap as the player jumps octaves. His head bends towards the keys, hair falling past serenely shut eyes. The music stand lies empty; he reads only the notes within his mind. Slowly, the music seems to fill the room to the brim, then spills out through doors and windows and cracks in the walls, while at the source slender fingers dance sweetly on.

By Mikki H, March 26, 2014.