Nessie's Old Piano

I remember you, old piano. 

Hidden away in a corner, blending in so well with the background. And yet, you're quietly there. Waiting. Hoping. Desiring to bring out the music in you. How many visitors from around the world have sat alongside and sang away as you accompanied them in your cheery notes. 

I've heard you before. 

My friend Prakich played a few songs and we sang along. Some of your keys were off, but what does it matter? You sounded old in some keys and yet on other keys, you yelped like a pent up child, more energetic than eloquent! 

If you have eyes to see, perhaps you'd have looked outside the window and gaze upon Loch Ness. Many are visitors on a short stay. You, my friend, is destined to be here until who know when! And this is really your lot, to provide a tune or two to anyone willing to sit and play. But you know, as they do too, they won't stay beyond a few days. So, make the most of your time. Play your best tune before your keys and strings wear out.

If only you could talk, I'm sure you'd have so many tales to tell. 

Of little girls eyeing you, and tentatively, poking your keys with their little fingers. Delight at the sounds you make. 

Of couples, old and weathered, like you. Having a vacation of their life time, away from the city. Making the most of their time in the sunset years. Trying to capture and savor every moment of life before that is gone too.

Or backpackers, lovers and travelers, in the early prime of life. There's no need to worry about tomorrow, and try to leave behind the sorrows! All you need is love!

How many have touched you with their hands? And how many have you touched with your songs? I will never know, but can only imagine. Isn't music a moment in space and time when hearts connect and resonate, giving expressions to what's within people?

Hundreds if not thousands of faces - smiling ones, sadden ones, bright, gloomy, long or roundish. They come and they go. Young ones, old ones, middle aged ones. And you remain, by the lakeside. Perhaps on some clear moonlit night, you've even seen Nessie swimming and leaving a gentle trail behind in her wake.

Perhaps, she has visited, listened from afar, intrigued by the music you played and the voices that accompanied. Peering into that very window that you gaze out from.

You're a beautiful old piano, by the lake. Nessie's piano, perhaps.