There was still more music up the street, but this time it sounded like a whole orchestra. As we got closer to the sound, I could see that it was, indeed, an orchestra with a violin soloing. The violin was lilting and lovely but instead of seeing a human playing the stringed instrument, we saw a miniature ensemble of characters, one being a male figure with a bald head, dressed in a red shirt and black pants, standing and playing a violin, controlled by a puppet master who stood behind the little guy.

It was going to be two years since Pete died, her husband of nearly forty years. Thirty-nine years, seven months, and twenty-two days, Alice kept reminding herself when she felt downright depressed from the loss and the loneliness, which was often. Too often, her friends would tell her when she’d call to sob out her misery over the phone.

This Piano Man is tall and fit

His strides are long and slow

But when he sits upon the seat

In front of a grand piano

His fingers begin moving with great dexterity

whether he plays slow or fast

His music captures me

My soul is awakened by the gentle nudge of a song

That has filtered into the recesses of my mind

As it mingles with the deeds of work and play.

My soul is stirred with a breath of whispered longing

When I hear the harmonizing movement

Of instruments or voices

As it dances with my thoughts.

Aside from sex, what turns you on?

Is it: Music? Art? Laughter? A beautiful view? A mountain? An ocean? Sports? Danger? Playing an instrument? Accomplishments? Getting an award? A full moon? A scary movie? Having fun? Intelligence? A beautiful face? Eyes? Other specific body parts? Animals? Flowers? Growing your own vegetables? Colors? Fast cars? Storms? The list could be endless.