Happened across this truck at an old farm house I’ve shot a few times, though I’ve never wandered back to investigate any more of the hidden gems. Should have. An old Chevy truck sat where the last person drove it, left it, in my mind a momentary moment. Keys in the ignition, windows down. I love moments frozen in history as to be continued any time.
I’ve talked about the piano before. I talked about the keys and how they wait for hands to create magic with them. And today hands and keys meet. I love to watch the hands move across the keys, music flowing as the hands flow. I sit there and watch fingers press, move, up, down, glide across, with power, now with softness, lightly, then strongly, quicker and quicker, and then slow, very slow. All the while notes coming out of the piano and I receive them and music is created and the experience can be incredible. Because music is more than just a tune heard. It’s more than just sound from the radio. It’s pure and raw emotion flowing from hands to instrument and flying out, transmitting all of that emotion and power and feeling to the person listening. It’s communication. It’s passion and pain and love and joy and ecstasy and it can hit you like a hammer or caress you like soft hands and it’s amazingly wonderful and these words can barely describe it. Because music is heard and felt and seen. It’s experienced. It’s lived.