I hadn't seen him in quite a long time. He seems to slip in and out in the middle of the night. Never do I see a suitcase in his hand. He isn't actually my neighbor; he is my neighbor's "petit ami". She is 92 and I am not sure of his age. Oh, the beauty of love ...at any age. I am always so happy to see him, because then I know she is not alone. But, how do I know when this mysterious man has dropped by for a visit? I don't see him, but I hear him. He plays the trombone, not just plays, but really plays well; plays all around France with some big names. So, when he is here, I receive a concert, gratuit. Today I actually saw him; met him in the stairwell. He told me Mme. is not doing so well...going down, he said. "And so am I. I don't play the horn anymore, but the keyboard". "Oh", I said slowly...I guess I must have added bit of sadness to those words, realizing that the much enjoyed concerts were now sold out... because, now, as I am typing this a few hours after our meeting in the stairwell, l'escalier, his music is wafting out his window and into mine. I like to think he is playing just for me...well, probably for Mme, too!
Partager Music...what a beautiful thing to share!