The piano...

When I was a child, pushed to my physical and emotional limits...

There was always one place I could go, to find my center.
Directly across the street, just a few doors down from the cotton field our outskirt suburban neighborhood development was created, was a woman.... who had a piano.

My ankles, and busted knees, always swollen from the rigor of gymnastic practice. My spirit, ever exhausted from the emotional release that I could manage to let go of, through dance. And my mind....
Was only freed from the pain of it all through music..

I dare not call myself a musician.
I am a poet.
Who writes. And sings. And dances.
Yet, most instruments, I cannot play.
I have fat fingers that cannot press individual strings on a guitar.
Also, I can't sing and do anything at the same time.
Singing is such an emotional experience for me that I often...(mostly)... cannot do so in front of an audience.

But there is something about the piano...

There is a comfort that the piano brings, when properly tuned.
Being able to strike a key, and have it create the exact tone you're seeking, is a blessing.

It removes the frustration of having to move one millimeter, toward the left or right, on the neck of a guitar.

When I was so broken and afraid, the piano was my only solace.

I don't know why I elected to put this post together this morning. Yet, here it is.
So, yeah... I guess this is Tuesday's thing for me.
(sidenote: The 504 gateway timeout on Steemit this morning....The Alphabet Mafia has no clue how tenacious Jane is. giggles)

(source: pixabay.com and youtube.com)
~Jane