The Ukranian Violinist

She was an older woman, but no less strong. Her presence commanded the attention of the room. Her gaze glossed over the room from behind wire frames which perched upon her rather large nose. The woman’s bony fingers would gently handle the delicate instrument as she turned the silence of the room into robust sound. Poised hands would furiously work at the fingerboard, creating rhythm with perfect time. Effortless it seemed. Magic it surely was.


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