The Sun’s light shown through the windows and doors of the all white room. The all white curtains stood sentry at the windows, motionless while at attention. She sat at the piano between two, all white columns. Her wrists, in staccato movements, struck the keys with angled elbows, while her mahogany fingers, deliciously, devoured each note.
The white of her train flowed onto the floor and out toward the center of the room. Threading the notes, stitching together the melody, her deft fingers leapt in acrobatic jumps between the keys. The melody spun it’s way out of the wood and into the room, permeating each molecule, floating on the spaces between.
As she continued to play, the room began to absorb the color of the outside Sky. The eggshell blue dye slowly saturated the membrane of the white room – cajoled and lured by the music.
Beads of sweat formed on the nape of her neck just as the curtains began to billow and dance on the breeze that entered. She played on, pumping the pedals. She played on in legato notes, until the Sky had all been drawn into the room – completely encased and enraptured by the song and it’s melody.
A gentle cyclone of blues and whites stirred the wisps of cirrus clouds trapped within the interior of the room. They poured into and out of the seams of window and door as they traveled along the walls. Water color brush strokes painted every corner, wall, and space in diffracted blue – all but the eye that rested just above her and the piano.
Everything had become covered in Sky, become of the Sky. Everything but the dark curl of her hair and the diamond-sparkle blossoms of perspiration on the dark brown of her skin.
She played on, to the audience of clouds, wind, and atmosphere – completely unaware of their presence, on what started out as a clear day.
by malakhai jonezs
(c) copyright 2016