QUOTE : You were playing the song we like...”<br />“That was the song?” A smile lit his face.<br />“Yes. What was it?” I asked<br />“Bob Dylan.”<br />“What?!” I wailed. “I thought it was going to be Beethoven or something. Now I know I'm white trash.”<br />Wilson bopped me on the head with his bow. “It's called 'Make You Feel my Love.' It's one of my favorite songs. I embellish it a bit, but it's all Dylan, definitely not Mozart. The lyrics are brilliant. Listen.” Wilson sang softly as he played. His voice was as rich as the moaning cello .<br />“Of course,” I said sourly.<br />“What?” Wilson stopped, startled.<br />“You can sing. You have a beautiful voice. I can't even pretend that you suck. Why can't you suck at something? It's so unfair.”<br />“You clearly haven't seen me try to carve something intricate and beautiful out of a tree stump,” Wilson said dryly, and started playing again.