The Cellist

The Cellist

The cellist painted masterpieces

with his strings and bow

etching into the air

stories of places

and people from long ago.

In the audience

she sat transfixed

as if in the room all alone,

absorbing the notes

so pure and sweetly mixed,

haunted by the melody

that seemed familiar

and yet unknown.

The music was an essence,

a fragrance,

saturating her soul.

Righteous just by existing,

it soaked into her thoughts

and made her whole.

She sighed a whisper,

unaware

of the others around,

and then held her breath

as the tears

silently slid down.

Not wanting to miss a single sound,

she strained to focus 

on each quivering string,

bowed or plucked.

Oh my. Oh my!

How he made that cello sing!