Wednesday, May 5, 2010
"Shhh Jack, Momma's singing."
My fingers feel stiff, but the old piano keys still find their place under each fingertip. An old melody threads me through quarter notes and crescendos, metered time and counterpoint.
"HOW are you DOING that?" Jack furrows his brow, his mouth agape.
Jane balances with Lulie in a tiny rocking chair, "I LOVE that singing," she whispers.
I smile. I can't even sing one note on tune. It's all in my fingers.
They call it singing.