her Etsy Store.
Clumsy notes clamor, through the walls, down the hall, spilling out the screen door into the back yard. The yard where the hard running steps and laughter of children are heard. One of the neighbors is charging up their staircase in time with the notes of the A flat major scale I play over and over again to prepare for Ballade No. 3. Wrong notes, and even right notes played wrong, beat against my eardrums. It takes so long to get any good. Notes, notes, like strokes of paint, some delicate like raindrops, other heavy like gobs of mud. Notes, notes, redundant like stripes and spots on our shirts. Other times merely repetitive, yet with numerous variations, like books of different colors and widths on the shelf, or windows of various sizes and shapes, yet all clear and letting in the light. Over and over I run around this same block, finding my stride, falling full into the moment and losing my sense of time. After a while, a long, long while, all this effort will pay off.