I think it's official tonight. I miss my piano.
Sitting on big covered front porch wrapped in a light wool scarf listening to the rain fall around me an espresso in hand listening to Radiohead's 'Sail To The Moon' on vinyl the crackle and hiss adding to the ambience of Thom Yorke's dingy old upright piano chords filling the house wafting out the windows to me open this summer evening to welcome the breeze. It's been over a month since they hauled it out of my living room. I don't know time sort of all melts together it seems.
But I like dingy old uprights. And beautiful concert grands. And everything in between.
But I like dingy old uprights. And beautiful concert grands. And everything in between.
Just the idea of metal and wood copper and steel and brass and mahogany and spruce and ebony. And there is something maybe even magical the sound of a piano through open summer windows. I like walking around town quiet summer evenings shadows long somewhere on the air the sound of a piano coming from a living room. It seems rare these days. A piano or any instrument really.
Which is really quite sad I suppose. Or at least to me.
I cannot hear a piano in a song now without wishing to sit down old wooden ebony garage sale chair and play mine. To hear that wonderful tenor. I know it is for the best that it's gone for now. That when it is returned it will be infinitely better and I will be drowned in its sound like never before. But in the meantime.
In the meantime ...
Which is really quite sad I suppose. Or at least to me.
I cannot hear a piano in a song now without wishing to sit down old wooden ebony garage sale chair and play mine. To hear that wonderful tenor. I know it is for the best that it's gone for now. That when it is returned it will be infinitely better and I will be drowned in its sound like never before. But in the meantime.
In the meantime ...