DO SOMETHING

DAY 7

I picked out notes, could name them, but a tune was out of the question. The room’s air muffled the piano’s dampers and stifled my fingers.  Floor-to-ceiling windows caught and threw back hills, trees and sky but kept beaks, heads, breasts, tails and wingtips in pale grey impressions.  To stop further collisions I closed the windows’ shutters. Locking the door behind me, stillness was kept in.

Do Something In An Empty Room 

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