Long Way Home

Music

He moves so fluidly that I bet water is jealous.

The bow is but an extension of his arm.

The instrument a vessel for his soul.

Eyes closed,

head bowed low,

it is as if he is praying while he plays.

Notes float through the air

vibrating in beautiful sound waves.

His whole body shakes with each accent and staccato.

He doesn’t need a sheet of paper to show him what to play.

His fingers just know.

The strings are memorized under his hands.

Soft and hard,

slow and fast,

breathy and breathless.

And a man four years older than him sits beside him

struggling to keep up.

I’ve never heard anything like it.

That is what true beauty is:

Elegant fingers dancing on

the strings of a well-tuned

cello.