Mum played the piano---
the wondrous notes of Chopin's Nocturne
breathed softly around her,
then drifted through the open window
into the rapidly falling darkness.

Evening retained the warmth of the day,
washed mellow and magical,
blending with music, our whole garden.
A full moon crept stealthily higher,
the sky a deep lavender-blue, darkening to purple.
A divine hand painted a perfect circle of silver-blue;
a pale trace of chiffon cloud drifted across.

Scents of roses crept into the room
as the music tiptoed out.
Was Mom aware of my presence
in that moon-lit garden?
Chopin invaded me
and I became transparent,
dreaming of hazy pirouettes.

Marjon van Bruggen.