#45

She sat in the third row watching a group of musicians play in front of a glass window that looked out upon a garden. The musicians’ bodies meandered and stuttered, mirroring the improvisational sounds they were weaving together from their instruments. Behind them, the wind was causing branches of trees and shrubs to flounce their leaves in rhythmic patterns, in time with music that was not coming from inside but from some steady orchestra conductor residing in the roots of all the vegetation. The ebb and flow of the wind in the leaves had a hypnotic effect, and the girl could have fallen asleep right there in the third row while three musicians clanged loudly on strings and horns if it weren’t for the small brown bird that landed on a branch outside, causing the conductor to lose focus of his orchestra. Leaves shook and scampered wildly, all measured time now completely lost both inside and out. Maybe it’s better this way, the girl thought, and she clapped loudly from the third row for the musicians, and for the small brown bird.