Dainty woodwinds; how long since I had heard such sweet notes, such tenderness in a melody.
A woman playing a flute, in this dark city reduced to rubble and ashes, as the morning claws its way into the sky.
I had forgotten that humans could create things that soothed and were gentle, could make something beautiful and not just things that were weapons.
The woman, like all of us, is tired and worn down, but she plays her flute, with those soft and trilling notes, almost like the bird song so long gone from here.
No comments:
Post a Comment