Fairy Tales of Harp

I'm falling in love with this miracle.
This is a mysterious being that doesn't seem to have a gender. I want to see, feel, hear and listen to it. The aroma of its tones, each one with its unique essence. Three or four tones can reproduce the scent of the lawn, the mist rising above the spring lake, the scent of the morning and even all the mornings of the world.
The sun has set, the gloom is getting deeper, the day is so short today.
One can light the candle and the patches of the light mixing with the shadows begin playing on this strange curved body. And if one has a look through the strings at the candle and pulls the strings, having vibrated they will begin a real dance consisting of geometry figures. One has to focus their sight on the strings, and see how the first sparkles like diamond, the second twisting like spiral and the third looking like circle. It's beautiful.
I've got an amazing harp, with a madly beautiful sound, it's strange how each tone reminds me of pain. I am not sure if it is my own pain or the world's pain.
Each tone has an ancient history and countless combinations of tones tell long sagas. You play and it seems you tell the fairy tales. Tones are going away for ever, melting like snow flakes in the warm air, as they tell us good bye, the echo carries the repercussion of this parting.
It is a strange harp. In some special way the harp is my wife. I wonder if I am going mad? I've never treated any instrument so mystically and I've never felt so drawn to an instrument. Long ago I almost had such feeling for the cello, but it was not the same.
Probably the artist who has painted an icon has such feelings, or one who scents the neck of new-born baby. I don't know, it is difficult to explain.
Oh, Lord, how sweet but without the sickliness, this chord sounds...
It is strange thing, I play someone else's compositions with difficulties. It seems the harp sorts the food, like a naughty child, preferring to be fed with my imagination. When I play my own improvisations, the harp and I become one whole, the symbioses of the human being and the harp is born, as the harp becomes an extension of my hands, my thoughts. We are growing like two lovers and at the same time this process is strange and it seems even lewd. On the whole, I taste my muse-lyre and can't understand anything.

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