The Artist

I sat at the bench.
My fingers rest lightly on the cool, white keys.
A long, single note holds.
I can see the possibilities.
My hands speed up.
The silence is gone.
They move with grace over the keys.
All my clumsiness is gone.
Louder, stegato.

More notes, the beautiful sounds trickling delicately into the air.

It is my canvas.

I am the artist.