the recital

had her parents forced her into it like so many do,

then she might still be a virtuoso, that is true,

however,

to see a kid make for themselves a hobby into a skill,

just

because

they

want

to,

is something that holds little comparison in the adult world,

a place where obligation &

environmental distraction rules out

most beautiful ambitions

allowing release on only the most begged for occasions---

Desislava adjusts her position on the bench,

her hands placed now only inches above the

ivories &

the whole place is silent

(but filled with anticipation)

as the first chords drop &

her left hand begins to strike in the same manner that

Rachmaninoff himself might have when composing the

Prelude Op. 3, No. 2, in c-sharp major---

a gentle coasting along at first

as if massaging the keys

as if her fingers were fluttering upon a down pillow &

soon the flutterings begin to hammer down

with pounding resonance &

this skilled young woman

picks up the pace

ra-ta-tat-tatting like a machine gun along the intricate

textures

with fingers & hands smaller than the gargantuan composer’s

not missing a note

not straying from her interpretation’s aura

not losing the rhythm being played out by her

foot pedal &

when you close your eyes all the drama being thrown from the piano

your way begins to envelop your whole being &

she has accomplished her greatest task,

that task of a true great---

she has made you feel the music.