Remembered melodies

As I walked home from campus this evening, a wonderful sound greeted my ears. It wasn't at all well executed, and it couldn't really even be called pretty, but it was a sound I recognized and one that I love. Someone in one of the houses along my street, a child perhaps, is trying to master the intricacies of the violin. It is certainly not an easy instrument to subdue, and I'm sure I probably sounded just as horrible when I first began playing. And now it has been so long since I've plied my hand at a bow that I would probably sound just like this unseen player, my violin screeching as my once-trained hands move over the strings with uncertainty. I know just where my violin sets. It is in my bedroom at my parents' house, in the far right corner as I walk through the door. Finding my music could prove more tricky, but I think I'll look for it when I go home in a few weeks. My playing may not start out pretty, but that's ok; I don't expect immediate success. I would like to believe, however, that with a little practice and perhaps with some measure of training, I will be able to make the strings tremble and sing for me once again.