She stood near a spreading ancient oak and her form swayed, dipped a
little as she played. I could not see what instrument she held by the
small ragged light from the lantern near her feet. Maybe it was a violin.
But where had it come from? And why had she come out here to play
before, or to, the tree?
Who knows, I told myself impatiently. We had worked all day, since
dawn. Is it necessary to know?
I gave up further thought and awareness of time listening to the music
Adonie created. Sweet, poignant, it pulled at me. I had never heard it
before or anything like it.
I stood there listening until the last sustained throbbing harmonics
ceased and she reached down to pluck up the lantern. I turned back, so
that she would not see that I had followed her, or heard her. If she
hadn't cared if I heard she would have played in the barn. Or so I
thought, self-centered as ever I was.