Music

Fingers dance across keys.  Music swells through the strings and wood and fills the air with a beautiful melody.  It rises and falls with the tap of the keys, flying high and dipping low around me.  Now, it soars above my head, fluttering its wings and tweeting its joy.  Its delight fills me to the brim, and I smile involuntarily.  Then, in an instant, it drops like a stone to the deepest recesses of loneliness, and my brow furrows with concern.  My fingers slow and lighten, and the music dips hauntingly.  With a heart-wrenching pound of the keys, the song begins again to speed up, dragging my heart along behind it. 
When I play piano, I feel at one with the music, and a sort of blissful peace that overtakes me and lets me ignore the world around me for a while.  Sometimes, I swear my pulse is in time with the music.   The feeling of my fingers dancing effortlessly over the keys with no motivation from me, the sensation of having a tiny symphony playing in my head, the joy of flying to faraway places buoyed along by the music.
I find myself almost addicted to the feeling.  Any time I have an extra five minutes, I find myself scurrying to the nearest piano to play a few of the songs I know (not many, let me tell you), to once again soar with the music my fingers create.

I am thankful for the joy music brings to me and many of the people around me.