A window opens on a forest: trees, moonlight, a path. You’ve been here before: the knot in a pine becomes a long-lost face, the veil of leaves a scarf of blue silk. You startle a flock of birds into flight and their cries echo a song playing in a tiny room wreathed in cigarette smoke. Through the window, the man at the piano sees a large house in a small town, his grandmother’s tulips, the fall of his sister’s hair. At the word song his eyes meet yours and his fingers pause on the keys: birds over a starlit canyon.
Photo Credit: andi solo