I watched the man on piano, eyes closed, swaying as his fingers flew across the keys. The lady on the cello, she was swinging, swaying. Another on the violin, rhythmic then jerky, like a puppet being pulled on a string.
“Why do they move so strangely when they play, Father?”
“Wood is stiff, son. But in the right hands, it comes alive. The wood transfers its feelings through the player. Joy, sadness, it all comes out. When musicians play, and I mean truly immerse themselves in the music, they become one with their instrument. And then my son, then they dance.”