Later that evening, after a walk with her cat which had drawn many amused glances, Stella walked back to her piano a glass of Cabernet in hand. She sat down on her bench, while Tesla jumped up on the piano and sat between lit candles as he watched her with his inscrutable stare. Fingers ran over ivory keys, drawing forth notes until she came to play one of her favorite songs. She sang too, but had only occasionally made money of it when she sang in bars. Getting drunk guys making passes at her wasn’t her idea of Time well spent.<br/><br/><div class="bbMediaWrapper">
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</div><br/>Tesla jumped down off the piano and sat by the window looking out into the evening light as a fine drizzle began to fall. What a peaceful thing, Stella thought and went back to her music.<br/>For a time she played and sang, and looked out of the window at the large oak the branches of which were within a foot of her window. The young leaves growing, beautifully green in their spring time glory. Her eye fell to the sculptured face of the green man on her wall by her book case and she lifted her glass to him in acknowledgment. “Here’s to good grapes this year.” She said and then, once again stretched limber fingers over the keys and continued to play. Notes and chords filled the room, filtered between the molecules of walls and wooden floors until nothing but the music filled her being and the world around her. Eventually as it did many evenings her heart found its way to Beethoven. She didn’t need sheet music. The orchestra was so clear in her mind that she heard every movement, the inhalations of air from the wood instruments, the rustling of clothing as though she were in a concert hall. And she began...eyes closed..barely breathing...