The rain through the holes in the roof of the old decaying farm house hit the delicate ivory keys, tap, tap, tap, a rhythm forming there without the form of human touch.
I had always wanted to play the piano, and I did, by ear, in the quiet old church with the tall steeple, the only witness the sun through the towering windows, casting long shadows on the pale pink carpet.
Some of the loneliest and most peaceful places lack an audience yet are filled with an ethereal melody, the unsung hymns of all the people past and present who made their way through, travelers from this world to the next, like the rain through the old farm house roof playing long forgotten keys, or the quiet old church with no witness to hear or see.
Author: JuliAnne Cedar
Image: © Ronald Fischer
About the Creator
JuliAnne Cedar
I’ve been writing for many years. My previous works have been shared in print publication, Elephant Journal, Medium, and WordPress.
Most of my writing is nonfiction. I most often write about spirituality, life musings, poetry, and prose.
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