A lone piano opens: one singing line over a soft, rocking pulse of three.

The tune comes round again, and now it wears small ornaments — a light trill, then a quick run downward.

Out of a low held note, a second melody steps forward — brighter, a little more pressing.

Both hands fill into chords, and the sound rounds into its warmest reach so far.

The first tune returns, now threaded with fast little runs through the familiar line.

The second melody comes round again, broader this time, with more room around it.

It swells to its fullest reach yet — warm, full-voiced.

And the first tune once more, the filigree at its thickest — a shimmer of quick notes settling over the line.

The shimmer winds down — a soft sliding line eases the ornament away, and the playing softens.

Small swells keep rising and setting down; the music rocks gently in place, unhurried.

Now the whole line lifts, and the sound keeps gathering behind it.

Out of a breath of near-silence, the piano continues — thinner now, plainer.

The playing stops; a faint room hum remains, and it fades too.