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In the moment that the girl took to the small dais, the room became uncharacteristically quiet. The applause of welcome stilled to silence.  This child of twelve stood motionless whilst her teacher settled himself at the piano. She held a bouquet in her hands, lightly, as if she the flowers would float away if she let them. And then she sang.

For Lucy, waiting her turn at the side of the stage, a portal to heaven opened. The was a beating on the air like angel’s wings, overtones rising heavenward. Each note contained within in it something infinite and beyond comprehension. When the final chord rang in the roof, Lucy looked to see if there was another voice of which she had been unaware. Then she realised she had become a taut membrane, stretched to extremity in sympathy with the song. That which had been on the periphery of her hearing, now thrummed in her inner being. (Lady Conductor)

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