I always hear pianos playing.
Their keys moving energy into all of the places I call home. There is always meaning in the music, when I just listen.
When light moves through tree leaves and they flutter against a light wind, everything else in my world stands still. There is something about the transparency of the leaves, hiding just enough of the sun to give us the beauty without a blinding brightness. Telling just enough truth for me to fall in love. The veins of the leaves, like my veins, flowing into the void and filling it with life. The tips of the leaves, like my fingertips, tapping at the air when the words aren’t there.
When light moves through flickering tree leaves, I hear pianos playing. I always feel like I am being given a gift.
Just like when Juniper taps on her little toddler piano, when I get that same feeling. It’s a feeling that tells me something is calling me into action. Something is speaking to me without words. Something is beautiful and honest and fragile. Something is giving me oxygen, giving me life. Something important is happening, just beyond my full comprehension. Something is so special that it slips beyond the senses.
I can only sit and listen, hoping that I can piece it together. Hoping that I can understand even just a portion of the point.
The answers to all of my questions are right here in front of me, yet there is a part of that’s afraid. Maybe there is a fear that the wind will pick up and carry us away. Maybe it’s the inevitable death of winter that stirs my anxiety - thinking of bare bones exposed in cold air. Maybe it’s all the fallen pieces that break away from the whole each and every day. Or maybe it’s because I’m still so afraid that something will take my sunshine away.
When my thoughts get too loud, I just have to focus on that little piano, moving little mountains, shaking the earth and all it’s trees. If I can just keep breathing, there will always be a breeze to ease my mind.
I love you, Juniper. Keep on playing your pianos. I’m listening the best I can.