The music curled out of the half-open door of the music shop. It fell gently down and then rose quietly.
“That’s the Appassionata sonata,” remarked my mother.
The quiet opening closed and exploded in jazzy syncopated chords. Suddenly it became quiet with a running note underneath like an underground stream.
It forced me to stop and listen to every note.
I felt caught, transported by emotion.
The music was pure. Grand. Magnificent. Rocky.
It took me out of my daily life.
It took me above myself.
It took me and held me.
–Cynthia Haggard writes short stories, novels and poetry. During the day, she is a medical writer and owns her own business. For more on her creative writing, go to spunstories. For more about her medical writing services, go to clarifyingconcepts. (c) 2009. All rights reserved.