She closed her eyes and began to weave a song. She abandoned the familiar melodies shed played so many times before and went in search of something new, no longer wanting a song fed on pain or guilt. She needed one that could replace those wounds with strength, with resolve, with confidence. She needed a song that could not only assuage, but heal and build anew. The notes stumbled around the room, tripping over beds and empty stools and hollow men sleeping. They warbled and fell, haphazard, chaotic, settling without flight. Fins forehead creased and she persisted. She let her fingers wander, reached out with her mind. She chased the fleeting song shed glimpsed once before. In Madeira shed felt a hint of it: something wild, untameable, a thing sprung whole and flawless from the instant of creation.
About This Quote
About A.S. Peterson, Fiddler's Green
A.S. Peterson, Fiddler's Green.