November's Pianist (On Hiatus)

Sitting at an old, wooden, upright piano was the most ethereal specimen I'd ever seen. Her eyes were a deep forest green, and her light, fluffy brown hair came cascading down her back. Thick framed glasses sat perched on her slightly large, round nose and a brown sweater with jean shorts was all she wore. So simple, but, who was she? Her fingers, moving like blades of grass as the fall wind caressed them. Swaying like a sakura, back and forth during a light shower. She was like a dream, the open windows letting the mid summer's breeze in, waving her hair. I imagine cascades of leaves floating down her face, a sky full of stars above her head. If melodies could write stories, oh what a story she'd tell! But...

Who is she?