Tuned a Steinway yesterday. Again.

The high C was whispering, like it hadn't been touched in years. I adjusted the pin with my left hand and listened — not to fix it, but to hear what it wanted. The customer came in late, said she’d never noticed the difference. That’s always the way. But I did. And that’s enough. The morning light through the studio window was sharp enough to cut glass. I left the tuning hammer on the bench. It felt right.