Music Box
A long time ago, I had a lovely music box.
With a turn of the key, the coil tightened and the mechanisms sprang to life. The brass
gears caught the light and glimmered as they set to work rotating the pin drum. Note by
note the pins plucked at the metal comb and chimed out a delicate melody that was bright
and cheery and perfect for twirling.
And twirl I did.
As the tune plinked along I would extend my arms above my head and rise up on my
toes. In time to the clicks and whirrs, I mimicked the movement of the springs and gears
as I dipped and leapt and spun. I was as graceful and elegant as the music itself.
As the coil unwound, the melody would slow and I with it. When the last of the notes
faded to silence, I froze in arabesque until the key was turned to revive the song.
But that was a long time ago.
The years have passed slowly and the dust has settled on the music box like a widow’s
veil.
All this time I have waited, poised and ready, but no one is left to turn the key.
