Melody of the Story

Slowly my violin cries; As the bow weeps across the strings. The tone swells in the air and the notes drop to the cold floor. The readied position, as the violin takes a breath. Quick; My bow as it jumps. Notes sing and wake the air. A pop to my step and a twirl to the dance, we swirl and swing as one. The short notes chirping sweetly. A gentle sway to the rhythm. The bow happily eases, and encourages the notes from hiding. A leisurely descent, as the notes recede. The air sits unruffled; And still.