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Spring Tuning

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Today is a new day.
The lands are blooming a new, with blossom on the trees and bulbs reaching out from frosty ground, yearning to reach the clear aqua skies, and blinding sun which makes the frost on the ground dazzle and shine.



Even the village, a place you know well, was springing into new life; the buildings climb high and protect us from suns burning hold, the shadows of light grey and great cool. Even the people shed off layers of clothes, no longer hiding from the cold. The first step outside...



This land seams so strange, I do not know where I am, the gentle breeze with cent of fresh bloom circles in the air, it all seems new. There is one man who has not seen the change, still in heavy black trench coat, a bag and a large case, gloves and scarf as if it were still cold, he walks into the village almost unnoticeable even with his bulk of winter clothes.



Is he invisible? Is he real? Well I will soon tell. He walks to the centre of the village, a large empty space, and he opens his bag and pulls out a stool, how strange. He sits down and lays his case on the floor, one loud click! Another click! Then a third click! As the case swings open but what is inside is hidden from view.



A cloud above passes over earths star, the man hidden in the shadows, those who watched for the cloud to past where soon glared at by the sun. The man is there no more, the jacket on the floor as well as the scarf and gloves he pulls out a mess of metal from his bag, and somehow turns it into a stand for a book, or music perhaps?



Nobody saw what happened in-between but he suddenly stood with hold of music instrument. The trees around whistled in the breeze, creating a tune, or so I thought. It was the man making the tune, the sun behind him so his face could not be seen but he played a sweet melody as the cherry blossom gave up its bloom.





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