My Dearest Dulcimer Delilah,
Delilah, you came into my life when nothing seemed right.

You brought a comfort a light to a tortured soul and shattered heart. From the echoes of our history through everything you helped music flourish for over three hundred years. Without your birth in America in the eighteenth centenary all of us would be lost.
  It was you Delilah, as a Dulcimer giving the; guitar, violin, and piano life into the world. Your origins being around since the dark ages, the only entertainment. Not only that you were a huge aid in writing Ballads.
  My soul is soothed by your sound, and your touch.  I recall when I first met you, your curiosity begging me to tell where your name came from. Delilah not the name Dulcimer that was Latin for dulce melos meaning sweet melody. That name can't say more about you. I will never forget that beautiful lullaby you gave me Delilah. 
It all started when my family was ripped apart the second time.
I was a lonesome child with not much to hang on to. I didn't have much heart to give, you stole the remnants. You captivated my soul forever, from the first moment I heard you sing. Among the sights, sounds, and bustle of the Boise Art Festival one sound reached out to me. A soft and different tone, yet calming my aching heart and soul. The darkness stilling from the suffocating  scent of iron and rain fading.
The only thing I could hear was that soft familiar tune. I turned stopping in my tracks listening the notes echoing a song out of How to Train your Dragon.
  The endless tears stopping for a single moment the notes sounding in my heart playing the strings as a lullaby. I began to run not wanting this moment to end. Ignoring everything around me, abandoning my family, as I ran toward the sound.
  Coming upon a white tent in woodworks at what seemed the end of the Festival. Slowing despair filling me, thinking I imagined the song when it stops.  A calm, tired voice pierces my thoughts  "Hey, you having a good time?"  I turn to the voice, weighed down my thick darkness returning. I am forced  to pretend I'm fine. An art I've mastered when my heart in shards makes tortuous cries.
  The middle aged man wore a white tee sunglasses on his forehead with worn jeans sat back in his chair as if he didn't have a care in the world. As I studied I noticed he held the most interesting instrument. In his hands a wood instrument  in the shape of an infinity sign of light tan carved in it was beautiful ivy as the sound holes. It's  neck of a deeper shade of brown lined the bass, looking like a guitar I expected to see six strings. To my surprise only four strings laced through the neck to the white pegs. It  laid across his lap he played it like a piano humming along. This is called a Dulcimer, I stared my mind repeating it, instantly hooked.
The song  started up as if he was undisturbed.  I approached watching the strings vibrate awe filling me. I've seen musicians but the man before me was unlike I've ever heard.  He noticed my staring. Smiling he pulled out a wooden rod without stopping the beautiful song. He placed it on the strings sliding I smiled recognizing it as a sliding rod.
To my surprise the song and style of the way the instrument changed. Instead of the steady Celtic like sound it seemed to have that southern twang suddenly. I looked to his other hand holding a pick he strummed fast. He smiled at my amusement I found myself humming softly with him.
As my family found me, they paused  listening. My sisters seemed bored by its tune. I kept holding on to every note as a lifeline.
It would be many days since I would see you, the first Christmas since moving out. I came downstairs from sleeping with my cousins. There waiting was a beautiful dulcimer. With awe and anticipation I hurried to it. The smooth surface to the heart shaped sound holes. I carefully traced the holes then to the long graceful neck.  On the stand  I noticed  a purple ribbon bag, opening it to see a pick and slider of my own.
Laying down by my stocking was a book from the man I met. It instructed me how to play offering free lessons. Concluding  how my Dulcimer was made by his hands to drop by Unicorn Woodworks if I needed anything. Telling me there was no practical tuning only to my voice.  Because a Dulcimer is to accompany a voice not the other way around like most instruments.
  I began to play recalling my instrument needed a name. I pondered the year was indeed ruff and hard to bear. Though one radio show pulled me through most of my hard life. The radio host's name was Delilah.
Since that moment and every moment since the sound of your strings as I raise you from your stand sooths me. The soft dusty feel of your brown neck to your light tan and brown body that rests in my lap. The sound holes as hearts because only love comes out of it.  How the vibrations move into my lap resonates throughout me. Transporting me to another place, freeing my soul. I close my eyes enjoying the new reality wrapping around me.
Love Never Ceasing,
Adia