The Voyeur; jm muse chronicles

at first it was his walk ....and then it was his eyes

I think of this now watching him from the balcony. He sits among the orchestra but I only notice him. Tonight it is the cello so I wonder who is ill or gone away I think I like the way he plays this more; how he holds it like a lover, especially for Eroica; I am his voyeur. I watch his fingers and even from up in the balcony, I see the way he lays his fingers.... for one so tall and physically strong, to see the shocking gentleness in the way he touches, I find, leaves me stunned by this devastation

It is by the end that he glances up from his bow to look at me and I realize he always knew I was there even as I never said I was going to be here tonight

When he stands at the end with the other musicians to bow out he turns to me in a subtle way and does his last bow to me and with the smallest inclination of his head infers to meet him where we always meet backstage

[and so.... must go for now ~perhaps more of this later]