From my piano bench, I can see dandelion seeds float on the wind. There they go; sledding down imaginary valleys and floating on imaginary clouds. As my fingers travel up and down the keys, I wonder. Does music float? Just like dandelions? If I push up the windows high, lift the piano cover, play Hayden’s Surprise Symphony—will the music float out the windows and into the world’s ears?

Thump, thump. There goes the neighbor boys’ basketball. Always thump-thumping. Through noise, does a faint trickle of music ever alert their ears?
It’s early nine o’ clock-- it’s them playing outside and me playing inside. I play Pathetique 2nd movement. Maybe if I play softer and more dreamy-like, music won’t sag down the breezy wind. Maybe the wind will carry further.

Those dandelion seeds outside…do they ever fly all the way down half a mile to Stop and Shop? Or do they decide to plant hundreds in my yard?
What if my music actually tiptoed all the way to Stop and Shop. That’s a big forest of homes along the way. Does anyone hear? Hear when I abandon Pathetique and Grieg for a whole month and just play praise songs by ear? Those songs that come first into my heart; from my heart to my mouth; out of my mouth to piano music. Even though I stumble through ‘1000 Reasons for my heart to sing’ can they almost hear my heart that’s ready to burst? Does Chopin Waltz or my transposition of ‘There is Power in the Blood’ entice them to tap their foot? ‘Step by Step’ – do they realize my prayer to God?

Do they ever stop washing dishes or thumping basketball; ever stop still just to listen? And see if they can break through that film of music notes and detect those inner layers of joyous or mourning emotion?

What if music captures the wind, flying out of the window, and into someone’s soul? Once a customer service lady on the other line interrupted mommy, “That music playing in the background…I could listen all day.” Mommy goes, “I have four daughters so I already listen all day!”

Sometimes I wish I had music-playing neighbors. Then I would know what it’s like to be on the other side—and not at the piano bench. I would be doing school on my desk with the window open. And as the breeze floats in my window, I would freeze when I think I recognize a piece. When a rush of wind (which blows my hair and my papers) turns up the volume, I’ll squeal.

If music really does ride with the wind; all crazy just like dandelion seeds… I wonder—as I peek and check if neighbor’s windows are open before piano, what music looks like; traveling on the wind.

It must look stunning.