The Castle On the Third Floor

Hi my friend,

My daughter and I were
walking downstairs from her
violin lesson this week.

She is trying something new.
A new hobby to stretch into.

So now, every week,
we climb all the way up to
the fifth floor of a very
characterful building.

And we step into
a tiny apartment filled with 
sound and scattered 
instruments.

Guitars resting in corners.
A piano pressed against 
the wall.

And a narrow corridor
with a white bookcase, filled with
knowledge to learn from.

And each week I sit there,
mesmerised.

By her focus.
By the way her brow furrows.
By her determination to master
this small, fiddly thing that 
does not easily give in.

But now 
the lesson was over…
and we were going home.

Until the sound coming from
an apartment a few floors below
made us pause halfway 
down.

It was this 
joyous melody
racing through the door.
Obviously being played
by masterful 
musicians.

“What is this place?” she asked,
as I was leaning closer to read 
the sign on the door.

“A Slavic community centre…”
I said aloud, adding a few more 
words to clarify.

“Oh. I just thought
Dracula lived there.”

She said it as if she
wasn’t expecting my answer.
As if she was certain she already 
knew what was truly there.

But then…
a tiny glimmer in her eye
gave her away.

And after a few
heartbeats had passed,
we looked at each other
and let our laughter
tumble out.

Because of course
she knew.

Of course she knew
Dracula probably did not
live behind that door.

But the sensible answer
wasn’t the first place
she decided to go.

First came wonder.
And a sprinkle of 
possibility…

That maybe
behind that door lived 
something quite 
extraordinary.

With love,
Elina