solo piano

Since morning I've been searching darker shades. Quite hectically, but now I'm gradually slowing down. We're bringing the parents' house out from under the dust and dirt – two main enemies before Easter for all Christians. And for their families, too, so there's a fresh smell of domestos and a damp cloth wafting around me as well. But I don't mind. I even feel a stabbing sense of guilt in my stomach, when I think of my mother and her tomorrow's lonely struggle through the March wind on her way to the church, trying not to let the sausage and bread out of the Easter basket. Then she'll come home with her cheeks red and it won't be until she sits back with a cup of hot coffee that I'll stop feeling like a traitor.
I guess I've found a pretty good online radio. It's called Whisperings and it broadcasts solo piano pieces only. It's soothing and regulating. And it fits our clean living room with its dark shade of brown and mum's green oleander. I like my parent's mature taste, I like their style because quite naturally my sense of norms, of optimal intensity of the environment factors is nearest to theirs. I enjoy the silence in their house, only rarely broken by the music from the Polish Radio. Dark chocolate and the temperatures always low, almost cold. Dry or semi-dry wine. No magazines for women, no football matches. Only dark brown and deep green.
Just as ascetic is the early spring in the village. In fact I noticed it just this afternoon, when I was cleaning my window. I turned Tori Amos’s "Little Earthquakes" on and somehow realized what the colors of this neighbor are in March. For a few months each time I'm here it's hard to believe that one's physical location can make such a great difference; that some certain geographical longitude and latitude can constitute a soothing background for actions. Or perhaps the sheer presence of my parents is of greatest importance. After all, they're the only company for me keeping silent for hours, for forever, as if I wasn't there.
Around midday we had a break, sat at the kitchen table and ate bread with butter and strawberry marmalade. A moment probably worth more than last few weeks.
Just as pleasant was cleaning my window with the piano accompaniment of the red-haired lady. I thought it was a pity I had only two sashes. I even sat on my desk for a while without any purpose, staring through clean panes.
And then the March rain fell. But I still don't mind.