BY VICKEY STAMPS 2008
The Fiddler
his heart, put it under his chin and stepped down as gently as he
could on his arthritic legs, grateful there were only a few steps to
the sidewalk. The home was older than he was, and he thought
perhaps that was enough to say about it.
would play one tune after another, standing before the hearth place,
and carried her away. She had only had a lung infection. Now he
only saw her in his mind. He smiled to himself, thinking he would
play for her at their favorite place to visit. The park was just a
finery that nearly touched the ground. Other trees kept it company
in the old park, but seemed not to make such a statement as the
willow did.
iron arms and back. Its aged and once splintered wooden seat
worn thin and smooth by those who stopped to rest and ponder,
while sitting on its surface. He and his wife Emma, had had their
share of conversations while there. It was almost always about
their grown up family and the world in general. He could almost
see her gentle smile, and the twinkle in her eyes, as they shared
a bit of humor between themselves.
waiting for the inspiration to come. It would not be long. He knew
that to be a true thing. Unknown to him, a young couple watched
him in the shadows, from beneath the leaves of the willow tree.
They had come to snuggle there and talk of their caring for one
another. Their love was a thing only recently discovered.
Her head rested on his shoulder. His arms were around her in
a gentle expression of a new and young love. They sat there in
silence waiting for the performance to begin.
then another, the bow bending itself to make the music intended.
Had the willow tree been able at that time to truly weep, it would
surely have done so.
going on. A ground squirrel raised its head above its burrow fully
sank back down upon the grass and let the notes soothe it as well.
man was playing a love song for them. Her tears wet her sweet-
hearts shirt upon which she had leaned her head. He gathered
her closer in care, and reassurance, as the love song continued.
It made him think of the world and what he could do to become a
better part of it. Perhaps tomorrow he would participate in more
good will to his fellowman. He would think of the old mans
music and perhaps be more caring.
would stop now, instead of playing another song and maybe rest
for awhile on the old bench. Funny how much more than in all his
previous visits, had his Emma’s presence been felt. She seemed
to sit quietly in the center of the bench, just where she had sat in
real life. It was as if she wished him to come there and take her
hand. He thought perhaps he would do that, and he did.
cover under the old tree. The insects hid again behind the bark
and the ground squirrel returned to tell his family about the
‘concert in the park’ that he had attended.
shoulder and reached for his hand. The patrolman would find the
old man there later, and wonder why he had passed away alone
and perhaps unloved. He would not know the Creator had sent
Emma to bring him home.
surely bring with it a sense of love, for that was all it had known
