my old acoustic piano

by walterdoege

and coming to my house during this summertime I received a call phoe of my teacher…we made our schedule for this year…I feel so happy!…it’s just twenty five years of piano playing…some closer to jazz and blues…and to some swinging brazilian rhythms…samba, bossa nova, some folk songs too…the music is one, the musicians are all fo us…just play your own thing…just say what you want and what you need…music is somehow a language…and in anyways I can write freely when i touch some keyboard notes…I have not played at my piano for three months, since the heat and hot days of summer…I don’t know why…I listen music…I read a lot…somehow listening music and reading are closer…at some point, art is only one…and art expressions are coutless…I feel a deep engagement with piano…performance…interpretation…improvisation, and these acts are almost the same when I am reading…I write some musical phrases…improvised…not recorded…some compositions…but writing literature is my great labour…after our brief talking I feel such a sentiment of continuity…of shared work…today i stayed in touch with my old piano…and it’s allright with it…some needed affination, but this piano is old, some two thousands years old…a piano from an old time, anoter century, another millenium…I listen, however, it’s same loyalty to musicians…somehow there’s not exist literature, but readers…and writers…and I must stop this interrupted writing…I keep working…. the joy of share this wriitng…so short…so long…I return as soon as i can