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Part 1 - The Song of winter Lake

They say that a story, should start with a setting and a character, and so I do the same. The setting of my story ... is white and cold, the character is but a boy, should I elaborate more? I suppose I should.

The day, I do not know, the year is in the present, the month is of December cold. The place of where this story shall be told is that of a village most will know, but few have seen it as this way before. The person whose eyes we see through today is a boy of young age, tall with long golden hair which greatly contrasts from his long black trench coat, and this person is unknown.

The gentle crunch of snow beneath black boot, a footprint left behind as the teenage boy walks awards, to where you may ask? I believe the better question would be why, for the boy walks across the frozen lake, with a bag on his back and a large black case in hand he walks on the ice towards the middle of the lake, but why? Read on and time will tell to why this person walks to the middle of the lake with a bag on his back and a case in hand.

The ice made a loud crack as he walked on, surely he should head back but he only persisted
on, there was no sound anymore but the fog on his breath and the crunch of the snow beneath his feet.

All was silent and blissful. Above him the skies turned from a sapphire dark blue to a darkened grey with only the moon to shine through, and so the light of the moon focused on this boy, creating a spotlight as he walked.

He opened his bag, lifting out cold steal and black leather, and constructed a stool which I sat upon in the middle of the lake, he then lays the case on the floor and opens it as the sky opens with it dropping flake after flake of snow, but turn away to face the snow you mustn’t as you will miss what is next. And so the silence was no more...

He played a song, so graceful in danced beneath the trees without any snow falling from them to the ground, even the animals came to stop, some wary some curious to what this sound was, and the sound filled the air, it traveled along the breeze and seemed to make the snow glisten even more, graceful notes of elegant travels as the boy sat in the middle of the lake, the mountains sang as if a choir, the trees produced a quite harmony and the snow and ice danced along, to the boy playing in the middle of the lake.

And so an icy wasteland was transformed to into a winter wonderland. The songs continued until the sun rose again and he packed up his stuff, and went on his way but that song is still sang, the perplex music still played, if you listen real closely you can hear it today.


Part 2 - Spring Tuning

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 center 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.


Part 3 - Fire, Sea and Summer Breeze

Now the summer time has come, the sun is bright, harsh, and merciless. In a nearby village you can almost call home, the beach is full of bustle and sound estrange, as children play and adults hide in the shade.




And there he comes, again, the man of song who is quickly gone. Legacy is that he only plays in the seasons, and in each year his appearance changes, his instrument changes, but his song is always the same. Some say he is a god who marks when the season’s first begin to change, others say he is just a traveller, but again he comes with guitar on his back and a black rucksack in his hand.




Yet this time he does not stop, he is watched with anticipation as he walks through the village, but that’s just he, he keeps walking. The golden sand seams dim in comparison to how his hair shines, and he keeps walking, through the town, through the beach, past the fisher man, over the bridge, until the impossible comes.




In front of him lies a rock with a sheer cliff face at least 50 feet high, he flung the bag on his back with his guitar, and to everyone’s amazement climbs up this small and fragile cliff with bare hand and feet, until he reaches the step.




Then all turn in amazement, to the song man above us all, sun shining behind him so only his silhouette is in sight, again his face is unseen, and he pulls out his little stool from his rucksack. Silence was held so well even the click of his guitar case could be heard across the beach. With his guitar in hand even he seems silent, not a single not strummed, plucked, played. Only the ocean could be heard.




The crashing of the waves was the only think keeping us from silence, what was he waiting for? Before that question could be asked he tapped his guitar, following by puzzled faces of his audiences, he taps it again, in time with the crash of waves on the rocky shore, he keeps taping it repeatedly. Tap! Tap! Tap! And it begins




His song is as bright as the sun, more vibrant and lifelike than the children in the sand, Tap! Tap! Tap! Along with the sea, all under a melody. The melody was not slow nor fast, it was neither simple nor complicated, it was a melody with the sea itself, grins spread wide amongst all.




Before anyone noticed children where pilling up wood, with a match the dry wood crackles, to more amazement, even the wood crackles in the beat of his song. And many gather by the fire, as it grows in size every minute that passes by, even as the sun sets he keeps playing, the fire and the stars are the only light through this night. This time the song man has came to the people, and this time we all dance, dance through the night of what was earlier a hot summers day, local old men and women get anything they can, rocks, lap or sticks, pounding a beat along with the sea.




The youth in summer love with the music played, dancing in the soft sand, resting on the cold rocks, today the song man brings cheer to us all


Part 4 - Autumns Dying Sound

And so the year, reaches its end, as autumn is at hand. This time
the music man is sitting down in the village, they all know him now and look
forward to the show. He sits there with his long blond her swaying in a slight
breeze. They welcome him this time around as a piano stands in the centre of the
village with people gathering around, the music man all have seen but none have
known came and approached the lone piano.




The fall of bronzed leaves to the ground and the crunch of them under
foot were loud and clear. The all shiver from not from cold but from
anticipation as the music man came to the stand and sat down; hiding his face
buried into the keys of the piano he sat in silence as all edge towards him.



Dum! A single note was held so long, to long for many, on and on this
single note echoed in the air driving people to insanity, a second note, lower
down, did the same and echoed around, long and loud as the note was interrupted
by a grunt of somebody in the crowd “he has ran out of ideas” he proclaimed out
loud, but then what could be seen was the faintest of smiles as a third note
came along, strong and proud, and then a gentle fall of fingers of the note, the
brightest highest sounds stumbling lower, deeper and darker.




And then the last chord he plays, it made peoples skin crawl, struck
panic in their eyes, he stood up from the stool and turned around. All stood and
stared at him, and he opened his mouth with his hands on his chest as the angels
sang out loud, this voice repeated the melody of the piano just the same but
sounded so mournful, so sad. And then he walked away




“this year is now dying”shock and amazement came as they heard the music
man speak for the first time, “I will not play a song for you, but for the
earth” he spoke again, his voice barely noticeable. But to their relief he
turned back around and sat on the stool by the piano.




His fingers fluttered upon the keys, traveling up and down, this sound it
was amazing and sad, so sad. The young ones cried, the elder wept, the adults
looked around. And his voice came again, angelical and proud, simple sound so
eerie and weird, as his voice echoed in the air, the piano still played but
quitter now. Then the winds came, the leaves rose in the sky, circling the music
man as he sighed “good bye”



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