Find it yourself.
In the words of my father and my sister, I am a music idiot. Of course, this is their conclusion after countless tortures. To them, my serenade is like sawing the legs of a lathe. These words make me feel depressed and discouraged. I didn't dare to practice at home until I found a wonderful place. On the hill behind the building, there is a young forest, and the ground is covered with fallen leaves.
The first morning, I crept out of the house, filled with a sense of sacredness, as if I were going to do something very great. The Woods are very quiet. The rustling footsteps sound like a faint poem. I stood under a tree, my heart beating violently.
I had to take a few breaths to calm it down. I solemnly set up the violin and played the first tune like a grand ceremony. But the fact soon depressed me, as if I had brought the saw into the Woods again. I was so sad that I almost cried and couldn't help cursing: "I'm such an idiot!" " You can't play the piano well in your life! "I was startled when I felt someone turn around behind me. An extremely thin old woman sat quietly in a wooden chair and looked at me calmly. My face suddenly burned, thinking that such an ugly voice must have destroyed the harmonious beauty of this forest and the loneliness that the old man was enjoying alone. I smiled apologetically at the old man and prepared to slip away.
The old man stopped me and she said, "Am I bothering you? Young man. However, I sit here for a while every morning. " There is a beam of sunshine shining on her silver hair through the leaves, which is especially crystal clear. "I guess you must play very well, but I am deaf. If you don't mind my presence, please continue. " I pointed to the piano and shook my head, meaning it doesn't matter if I play. "Maybe I will feel the music with my heart. Can I be your audience? Just every morning. " I was moved by the poetic language of the old man; I am ashamed and secretly excited. Well, after all, someone praised me, even though she was a poor deaf person. I pulled, facing my only audience, a deaf old man.
She kept looking at me calmly. When I stop, she always remembers to say, "That's great. My heart has felt it. Thank you, young man. " If she were not deaf, she would cover her ears and run away. My heart is full of a feeling I have never felt before.
I soon realized that I had changed, and the incredible expressions of my family proved this. From my closed room, I can often hear the basic etudes of Alvin toffler and Schurod. If in the past, my sister would always knock and pretend to be pitiful and say, "Please, give me a break!" " I don't care now. I stood up straight, my arms were sore and my shirt was soaked with sweat. But I can't practice sitting on a wooden chair, and I used to.
I don't know why, what always makes me feel uneasy and even ashamed is that I have to play hard in front of a deaf old woman every morning; My only audience must have been waiting for me in the wooden chair early. Once, she said that my piano music could bring her joy and happiness. To make matters worse, I often forget that she is a poor deaf person!
I kept this secret until one day, one of my sonatas "Moonlight" surprised my sister, a music major. From her expression, I know that she must not like sawing her legs now. My sister forced me to ask which famous teacher gave me advice. I told her, "It's an old lady who lives in building 12. She is thin and has white hair, but-she is deaf. " "Deaf? ! "My sister exclaimed, as if I were telling a fable," Are you deaf? " ! How ridiculous! She is the most prestigious professor in the Conservatory of Music. More importantly, she is the chief violinist of the orchestra. You said she was deaf! "
I have always cherished this secret. Cherish the beautiful heart of an old man. Every morning, I always come to the Woods early, face the old man, the "deaf" musician, my only audience, gently tune the strings, and then quietly play beautiful music. I feel that I have played real music, and those wonderful notes are slowly flowing from the strings, filling the whole forest and the whole heart. We didn't talk about anything, but on this beautiful morning, one person pulled gently and one person listened quietly.
I watched the old man lying peacefully on the wooden chair, smiling and his fingers beating quietly. I go all out to play, which may bring some happiness to the old people. Her kind eyes looked at me calmly, like a deep pool. ...
Later, I was skilled enough to operate the violin, which is a hobby I can never give up. At different times, I always meet some literary parties organized by everyone, and I also have the opportunity to play violin music in front of hundreds of audiences. I can't help thinking of the deaf old man, who was my only audience that morning. ...