There she stood, erected on a crate. Weathered, worn, abandoned. Set apart from the beautiful sunflowers that bordered her. It was an ironic visual. An old piano, an old piece of unwanted furniture among living foliage, and buzzing bees in the open air and under a cloudless sky. She was dead among life.
I approached her with awe and reverence. It sounds weird, I know, but this piano commanded a regal presence. Her keys were faded, some even torn, and when I went to press on them to make a musical note, it was out of tune with barely a sound. Just a dull ring.
A sadness came over me. It’s a thing, not a person, still, I wondered. I was curious as to where she had come from. Who played her? Why was she put here? Was she placed here for ambiance or dumped there because there was no more use for her? How long had she been on the grounds of this sunflower farm? The questions consumed me.
I imagined this piano in a sitting room in a large home, like a Victorian surrounded by shelves of books. Not just any books, but Encyclopedias volumes, Classic novels, Medical Journals, Poetry, and heavy Historical tomes. It would be a circular room, a study perhaps. A woman, in a formal gown, stroking her long fingers across the keys, effortlessly, as melodies sang through the hallways and winding staircases. What kind of music would she play? Would it be melancholy or uplifting? We shall never know. As I ran my fingers across the keys, I hoped that this old piano had had a glorious life of music and made her owners joyous.
How will our lives end? I believe our destinies have already been decided and that God knows. Whatever course, I pray it’s not one of abandonment, either, but rather, tattered in blessings and bruises. Wherever we complete our journey of life, we should take heart to live it fully because it’s the music you leave behind and not the structure of your being that makes it all worthwhile.
