~ The Minstrel's Waltz ~
He wasn't usually awake this early but it was hard to sleep these days. The house was still; it was the in-between time when night faded gently, keeping morning at bay until he awakened it with his song. Avoiding the clock which sat in the middle of the sideboard - knowing what time it was might break the spell - he took the Martin from its stand and eased onto the couch crossing one long leg over the other thigh and resting it in his lap.
The first rays of sunlight began to filter through the drapes from the easternmost window and fell on the body of the guitar warming the rich tones of the wood. Like a lover's caress he moved long fingers along the strings and reverently stroked the neck before firmly gripping it while his other hand began to pluck the first strains of a waltz - he'd written it for her - pure, pristine, and romantic.
One-minute writing exercise
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