TICKLE

She was used up. She had laid dormant and still for thirty years, no tune, no touch. She was stationed in the "winery," rumor has it at one time the "casbah." The place she sat was sold and the "winery" became the "studio." She remained and was unperturbed. The artist worked alongside her for three years. Sure, he stacked things upon her. She seemed invisible. He even stripped some of the ivory from her fingers. He did not see her insides. Until one day it was time.....Too much debris, all those pieces and scraps that he would someday use had instead become an obstacle to progress. She got caught up in the storm. He actually took a sledge hammer to her. She wailed in deep vibrating tones. Not so much protest, but a release of stored passion. Then she showed him her insides and he was thrilled, he had rediscovered her. Each finger a work in and of itself. Some ivory left, her small lead counterweights could still swing. Her fierce red felt lining still seared. He made a light of her. Her soundboard still intact, he chopped that free with his hatchet and he hung it on the wall. She beamed.......and so did he.