At home with Franz Liszt

Waiting for the rooms to cool we sit outside on a summer's night the door standing open behind us. Lingering warmth of porch step duplicates our own day's increment of sun absorbed by flesh; bare arms and legs and sandaled feet luxuriate. Along with whir of fans within the unlit house a single violin played flawlessly transforms musical notes to fireworks like sparks struck from an anvil - shooting brilliant, multicolored combining to a current - tumbling, streaming soaring out through the open door

transfixing all the atmosphere they pierce the soft air spangling against the blackness of great trees in shadow playing counterpoint to pale, sustained serenity of moonlight.

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