No — I’m not right. The child's parents? Don't seem to be around. Oh, there is my waitperson again walking up to the bench, carrying a small case — an instrument case? They know each other! Comforting hugs and a long talk. The girl also has such a case! Flutes! And paper — sheet music? They hold it up high. Holy scriptures, free from religion. The pure love of earth. Proclaiming in rhythmical unison. Voices dissolving in birdsong. If I’m silent…? Can I hear?

  “…night jar eyes like the moon…”   

They drop the sunny sheets, encouraging glances, breathing, lift their silver instruments to their lips, among the trees, the birds, this spring. Adult and child, Orient and Occident, humans and nature — all that is at odds elsewhere. Harmony. The girl hesitantly fights her way back to her smile. Gentle friendship, alleviating sadness. Healing. I am healing with the child. The mint lemonade. Freshness. A sudden symbol. This was given to me by this very special person. You have opened up my dissatisfied life with your harmonising influence, you miraculously perfect creature. Thank you for my smile. For butterflies, almond froth and mint lemonade. Breathing peaceful music, the lemonade runs down my throat into my inner being. Hope. I want to take some of the teachings of this day with me into my future.