Pratice, Practice

I was sitting on our bed, playing my fiddle in our bedroom while my husband used the study.  I had two clothespins on the bridge & the door shut so as not to bother him.

When he was done, he came in the room, curious to see how practice was coming.  I offered to play something for him, something I had worked on for an hour, “What Child Is This?”.  He said, “Ok.”

So, I started, suddenly aware of being watched.  My palms dampened, my notes staggered.  I stopped, looked at him, embarrassed.  He leaned over & kissed me, “Honey, just let the song go.”  I smiled back & started again.