The Pianist



Amidst an open silent field there was a room made entirely of glass. A warm soft light rippled through the windows as swallows dived and the sun set alight the sky in an Icarus splendour. Pink cerise melted into a vermillion orange within cotton-wool clouds that lay like soft lily-pads in the blue pond of the summer evening sky. The world burned an ebbing glow in her presence and there, within a small-box room with those immaculate windowed-walls, the pianist sat poised on her stool breathing softly in the melting heat so that one could watch the nuanced movement of her shoulders in easy breathing and admire the way the wise head sat so gently on that drooping neck. A gorgeous silhouette bathed in the glory of golden light, she reminded the watcher of the beauty in simplicity, the pure wonder and delight of the human form. Orange rays caressed her hair that shone a glossy blackness like the fur of a panther caught in rose-tint. She was perfectly gentle and yet ferocious all at once. Colours trickled into the room, but the pianist sat aloof and disconnected from the chaos of the outside world with all but the black and white keys of her piano. There she was in a room with nothing but herself, her thoughts and her feelings which dripped down her fingers in huge molten tears as if they were ready to soak the keys in amorous drenches. Tranquillity hummed around her like an aura of fecund celestial light. The watcher breathed in the smoky husk of the sunset air with eyes transfixed on the pianist and ears hungry for the sound of the music she would play. A silence that hung between them like a thread and connected them with a zest of anticipation. There in that great open field, the watcher sat poised on a bale of hay with the yearning for sound that would fix the aching silence of her heart which echoed with remorse and craved beauty. Knowing the presence of that pining soul, the pianist sat with furrowed brows, holding within her the weigh of that gift of sound which could call a thousand birds. Separated yet so entirely together, the glass walls exposed the pianist whilst the glass chest exposed the fragility of the watcher. Both needed each other. A breath taken, fingers pressed down with infinite musicality, the pianist began to play her melancholic tune.The watcher gasped as hands moved ceaselessly over keys with the softness and delicacy of an undulating wave topped with a sea-foam of hungry passion. The room ebbed and flowed with sonorous amplitude as her melancholic tune gained grainy and soulful depth, sprinkled with flirtation and desire. Vines spilt from her fingers and spread out on the keys, growing flowers to the rhythm in great flattering bouquets of hyacinth and white rose. Planet earth oozed from her as light dainty sounds dropped gem like from the piano in a cadence of symphonic technicolour.The windows shook on the brink of explosion whilst a climax of notes mellowed like flames of fire into a glorious energy of delight. Both hearts raced knowing that this sound would erupt out and shatter the glass like they shattered down the windows and walls of their souls for each other in the husk of a twilight dawn. It had been like this for years. The glass exploded each evening as the pianist played and formed again in the morning for a fresh breakage, craving new sounds to shatter itself in a ballet of perfect implosion.Dazed into an ecstatic fit of joy the watcher closed her eyes and almost tasted the music like a tongue in her mouth not seeing that the window began to crack and crumble in noiseless fragmentation. The pianist now delved into a black appassionato, amorous and weighted like boulders of lust on the keys of humanity. Rich undertones were doused in fragile high notes - the glass unable to bear the splendour shattered entirely so that a million fragments burst as the pianist reached an enlightened crescendo. All erupted! The flowers which spread from the pianists hands bloomed into great climbing trees of ash; glass fell like rain into air and delight fluctuated in the lungs of the watcher who jumped for joy at the pianist who remained collected on her stool, turning slightly in a relief from her efforts. A silence followed, a beautiful gulping silence as the pianist turned to the watcher and they stepped towards each other with bare feet unfeeling on a pool of glass. The pianist bowed, the watcher embraced her, and all the trees and all the skies smiled at their union as the sinuous streams of blood oozing from their feet melded into a river of beautiful fluid. The glass reformed immaculately and as their arms intermingled and they breathed to the diving beat of the swallows who swooned lovingly the cuts on their feet enclosed without scarring. The pianist would play again tomorrow, and the watch would watch. Eruption and peace; from breakage comes union, from silence comes life.