There are mists in life, and fogs, and cutaways and ditches. There is falling and rising along pathways and new roads. There is mud and slough, rips for ankles and darks for slowing. There is loud traffic and louder shoutings. there are days different for some that turbulence. There are quiet times, but few, to watch a pair of swans fly over, or for one child laugh at an ice cream; to see a sudden burst of green when there is little green left; to hear a kindness offered and received in murmurs. In short, there is life. there is always life for the looking.
Tonight, after a tricky day and after an amazing movie (Red Joan, Judi Dench) I sat at my piano. I rarely do, even though I long for her so often, her glorious white perfect pitch just right there for me, courried in to her sweet safe corner, and I played. I played lovely random music. My fingers felt their way across the notes, through the chords and I just knew that, had there been a roomful of listeners behind me, they would have stopped their chatter and joined me in this moment of music. And I thanked my fingers for not forgetting their way, even when I am sure I have done just that. Even with the beeps and pings of wheelchair, stairlift, heart monitors, fall alarms, all of that and more, there is always music.
And so it is.