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.