Friday, 16 January 2009


He turned the page and began the next piece, ecstatic that he had finally found a sense of flow in his piano playing that had always eluded him, wanting her to hear his progress in something he had stumbled upon by chance.

With the opening bars, she was transported back, all those years ago, into the blank cell like space of a college practice room. She was there again, late, looking out into an endless black sky and discovering what a Nocturne could be.

In the thin dust on her own piano, it lay in a pile of volumes, the pages unturned, with phrases silent and ignored, the pull of cadence, incomplete.

* * *

There is a short piece of mine on Catapult to Mars today.
You can read it here
Thanks to Gordon for choosing it.