The Cellist

The orchestra began to play.
The bow of her cello carved beautiful melodies warm and full as effortlessly as a hot knife gliding through butter.
If I had been her mother I would have named her Serenity, for she was as pure as her alabaster skin, as tranquil as a water lily washed in the milk of moonlight.
We walked and she told me it was silence she loved first and music second.
“Truly great music is always about silence, making the sound you cannot hear come alive so that when the music is over you can hear it again.”