My piano left me today. Given, it was, with love and no expectations, other than it be loved and played, to friends of mine.
It was trundled onto a trolley, pushed over the carpet upon which it had stood for so long, its move away from the wall revealing one of my many descant recorders which had, at some point, slipped down the back – and which, for one magical moment, hung suspended by will-power and fairy-dust against the wall-paper.
As it accelerated down the piano movers’ sloping board, a tiny coin, loosed from within, tinkled out and fell onto the front door mat in the porch.
I picked it up – then, busy watching as the piano was strapped in to the removal vehicle, its stool, pink topped and elegantly carved, wedged in before it, my friends and the movers driving off for pastures new, only thought to examine…
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