He descends the stairs to his piano and practices La Campanella by Liszt. He's discovered music in his heart, found out how meaningful it is, what a joy it is to share music. She's awake but she's still sleepy. I scoop her up from the bed and she lays her head on my shoulder to sleep more while I dance her along to La Campanella. She's three now, getting heavy, so I'd like to hold on as long as I can. She's potty-trained now, almost deliberately. She sings her soul out, learning and expressing herself through song. "When you feel so mad, and want to roar, take a deep breath and count to four."
D. makes us delicious pancakes and starts to prepare lunch. These days, she and I spend afternoons in cafes near our daughter's school. We eat our lunch boxes then books and coffee or milk tea. Sometimes we shop, run errands or some groceries. The two of us alone, holding hands again as if loving is a constant first time. The commute or the drive is not always easy, but the afternoons are all golden.
The little bells keep playing.
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