Opus 9, No. 2

Herself and Beloved Husband went to see a performance of the local symphony orchestra this evening.  Herself was ambivalent: they had been given the tickets, and thus felt obligated to attend; yet none of the pieces listed in the program were ones with which she was familiar.  Sighing slightly, Herself got ready, and she and Beloved Husband arrived at the venue a handful of minutes before the performance began.

The venue is charming -- a historic old theater that has been lovingly and painstakingly refurbished. Herself particularly likes the ceiling, painted a deep night sky blue, with randomly dispersed tiny lights that slowly blink more brightly and then more dimly, like twinkling stars.  A bit like the enchanted ceiling in the Great Hall of Hogwarts, Herself thinks. The backdrop is a lovely rendition of the mountains of this desert land at sunrise, awash in muted colors that reveal the peaks and crags of the ridges.

The guest this evening was an accomplished pianist.  The piece he played with the orchestra was lengthy, complex, and well performed.

And then, he played an encore.

At the first two notes, Herself knew the piece:  Chopin Nocturne, Opus 9, No. 2.  She has played it before. But not like this.

Years ago, Herself's piano teacher in high school paced around the room as she played, exclaiming, "SING  your octaves!"

If ever a person made a piano sing, it was this man, in this venue, in that moment.

It was exquisite.