The Violin

Hello my most dearest readers here is something I wrote a long time ago when I played the violin. I don't play it anymore, because I never really felt like it was something that I wanted to spend time on...I would rather write. However, I know that a lot of people have an almost magical connection to their instruments, and to music. I tried to write about that, and this is the product. It was written a few years ago.

My bow lightly touches the strings, eliciting a musical sigh of content from the polished, varnished wooden sound box. I smile; my violin is eager today, hungry for the music that fills its soul with tremulous vibrations of perfect notes. I rest the bow against the strings, gathering my thoughts, then smoothly pull the white horse-hair into a liquid laugh that fills me, drowning out any other noises or emotions like a waterfall, but not as unchanging. For though this music flows like water, it leaps, laughing and tumbling, then turns low and serious, like the wind moaning and playing through a field of grass. It catches me, tosses me, throws me like a child up high, then returns me safely to where I can continue playing. I bend and sway, my long hair and dress flowing with the music, swept away by the power of the most perfect equations turned into crystalline, silver sound. "Perfect" is too flawed a word to describe this. And then, with the suddenness of an intake of breath, it ends.