My Mother's Piano.

My mother's piano. It's what I'm most excited about of anything. The sight of it in that room, with the hardwood floor beneath it and large floor rug serving as a base to cup it with, like a treasure so gifted it must be generous in its hold.

My mother's piano. The sound of it echoing through the walls of my own; the keys, felt beneath my fingers, a mixture of silk and ivory, soft and familiar in a way only it, I, and my mother know.

My mother's piano. Mine to have, mine to hold, mine in my house I own.

More than anything, anything, in buying this house, is deepest, richest, exquisite joy of having once again, of touching once again, of hearing once again, my mother's piano. I am beyond myself in exclamation. Doing little twiddle-fingers and joy-hops and squeals, all because of, my mother's piano.