The Piano Song
Alone at a window a woman stood, her right arm raised holding back the curtain. Next to the window on a rickety end table an empty vase stood. Behind her was old furniture, and further behind against the back wall of the room, an old piano. Out the window the bare branches of a single tree bowed forward in the wind. The November afternoon was sinking into evening. The woman watched the cars and people on the street and the sparse, swirling flakes of snow.
