The Violinist

She stands tall and proud

In spite of the fact that she is quivering inside

The meticulous rhythm plays in her head

And the rules she has been drilled on

She looks out and catches his eyes

The eyes of her gentle instructor

He who gave birth to what she is now

Who pulled the music from her soul

Slowly she smiles

And lays her bow to the strings

And the music pours out

Like waves upon a once dry beach

There is no sound like those notes

No love like her own of the music

No silence like that made of awe

Her heart soars

And when the music ends

She stands still with her eyes closed

Waiting for the end of the rush

The crowd surges to its feet

Clapping

Cheering

She looks at her parents

Their tight grins and forced cheer

Had she missed a note?

Then she looks to her instructor

His smile is reserved

But not forced

He is proud of her

And that is all the encouragement she needs