I put the solo piano station on Pandora in order to progress through the pages of a novel, but instead of words, I envision alternate realities.
I’m a slender ballet dancer alone in the studio, practicing plies on the barre, but I could also just as passionately, be found in the lab, again alone, studying images of the brain in curious exploration.
I’m also an artist at work in the studio, again solo, lifting, smoothing, spreading and blending hues until they return to me colorful arrays.
More often than not, and to some, not as esteemed, the melodies conjure the memories. I’m giving baths, caressing a head, I’m reading while also enjoying the warmth of a small child pressing into my lap and in step with the tempo, I see the trio laughing, skipping, climbing and exploring.
I’m a mother.