Piano life.

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I arrived home this late forenoon to find the house flooded with dreamy languor. After a period of being downcast my wife had found the motivation to express herself once more on the piano, releasing notes of Schumann’s ‘Träumerei’ which floated and echoed through the halls and staircases of our sprawling residence. An outsider may have focused on the seemingly effortless style of playing, but I could detect a residue of melancholy in her light touch and mournful timing. It was a heartbreaking delivery cut short when she realised that I had arrived home. She dosn’t mind me listening as she plays, but she doesn’t like me to watch.