TUMULTUARY

In a quiet room she bursts through the grey. A Delicate touch against a balet of mourning flesh and ivory. Gliding through the mist on tepid toes she opens the curtains to reveal her counterpart. Swelling strings echo the dance of Healah. Delighted, and a little shocked, by the response of the tinny strings she bristles the room with her fluid movement. A new depth veiled in agony fills the smokey room with breath. Terror strikes the bow as he glides across familiar notes he thought were his own. No longer a victim she opens her hand to cherished empty space. His hollow body bellows like a forrest at the invitation of rain. A symphony awakens in the harmony of the dance they share. Together they breathe fresh familiar air into the dark room. Three echoed notes once solitary shed their bashful silence. The three notes are no longer followed by ill explanations of their past. The drag of his bow now in harmony with the plucked tension of her strings. The vulnerable swell expels the smoke until all that is left is the clarity of the three notes.