On an evening walk passing spring woods and a pond, everyone in the presence of God's little, growing tree- and water-dwellers was serenaded into the sunset whether they liked it or not. I noticed that the frog voices have gotten lower (already!) and that the ducks' muffled staccato quacks must have been tucking somebody in.
Then, for a brief incredible half-minute, the unmistakeable harmony of perfect human voices seemed to rise out over the water. Squinting to hear better--am I dreaming I thought, because it abruptly stopped before I could see anything. Well, there were a few stars in the early dark. But, there it really was again. Faintly first some orchestral music and then those beautiful voices, singing, rapping, clapping joy. Then lots of laughter and repeated happy singing. I can still hear it on the breeze through my open window. I think they're practicing for tomorrow's audience, but at least one heart has been lifted tonight. Whether they knew it or not. So neat.
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Le Violiniste Bleu, Chagall
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