In the end, even the most introverted of us long for connection. True connection is rare. It is fleeting. You want it to go on forever. You may yearn for a lifetime commitment of feeling connected, but it is often only a glance – perhaps a moment – or three or four minutes – or a well turned phrase – a pun between strangers – a single dance in the ballroom of life – a bit of music and harmony.

I scheduled a stop in Moab – intentionally – to play the public piano my friend said was installed outside the MIC. Incredibly there was a vacant parking space not 30 feet from the piano. I shouldered by backpack purse, locked the car, proceeded to the bench, which was securely chained to the console, and took a practice run of the keys. The g” was totally stuck – not good for a piano girl who chronically plays in the key of “C”. A bit out of tune. Tinny. But public pianos are ideal for making lemonade out of lemons. I dropped into Mandolin Rain, taking full use of the multiple, unsynchronized strings to tremolo the octaves. On the berm directly in front of me, a mom and a few children in a playgroup looked up momentarily and then the kids returned immediately to rolling in the grass. 50 yards away a middle-aged man lounging on the lawn readjusted his position. Three coeds walking on the sidewalk started circus strutting and giggling to the music. I realized I must be giving it a bit too much swing, so I pulled it down to mellow for the next selection and went with Roger Whittaker’s Last Farewell, dwelling in the lower range. It was a rather lazy, sunny afternoon, about 3:00 pm on November 8^th and time for me to be moving on down Highway 128 for Grand Junction so I launched Unchained Melody as a finale.

From my peripherals a tall blond woman about my age approached. She began dancing and vocalizing in the manner of Maria getting lost in the Sound of Music. For a moment I tried to follow her as she seemed to be channeling Whitney Houston and I Will Always Love You, but she was really extemporizing about her love of the canyons. “Just play whatever you want,” she said, “and I’ll sing.” For the next three minutes I improvised and she extemporized. We took a musical safari over red sandstone and rivers and mountains all buttressed and cross-bedded with I, and IV, and V and vi and runs and passing tones and flourishes. It was Moab and it was magical. She sustained a high note. I followed her up the scale and made a grand pause. Waiting, waiting, for the perfect moment of her breath. Glissando. Final chord. Cut-off. I popped off the piano bench and high-fived her. We introduced ourselves. She is Sharon. I am Cherry. Obviously same generation. Shared love of music and hiking in the great outdoors.

She mentioned a video contest was underway for this public piano and asked if I would film her. I took up her phone. She sat at the bench and vocalized once again, accompanying herself with a few basic chords. “That will be a winner,” she said. For her sake, I hope it is.

But I will always savor the memory of the video that got away – two strangers spontaneously improvising in perfect synchrony in their love of musical expression and Nature at a public piano in Moab.