Beginner’s Bach

The dilapidated pages droop as fingers slip into dissonance.
Playful tinkle is interrupted and it’s hard to tell if the exasperated sigh comes first from the user or the used.
There is a pause as determined digits take up their position once again ready to dance across unconquered territory.

The wrinkled sheaf contemplates a time when he was fresh off the press.
A boy had hugged him all the way home.
No numbered pencil markings had polluted his skin.

Musette comes to an abrasive halt as impatience forces an unwanted modulation.
The cavorting stumbles and it’s hard to tell if the exasperated sigh comes first from the maestro or apprentice.
Grandiose dreams of European splendour are transformed into the disciplined hammering of technical exercises.

The tanned volume remembers his accidental rescue.
A girl had extracted him from under a not-quite-so plush velvet cushion.
No brown paper protection had been needed then.

Minuet, yes, the one in G Major, is reverberating proudly around the family room.
The girl skips across her father’s keys honouring his memory.
Beginner’s Bach with its frayed edges patiently endures another recital. Triumphant, at last.