The only place she felt safe, calm, sitting under the weeping willow, watching the sky pass by in the mirror of the pond surface. She would rock and sing softly her songs of sorrow and joy. No one but the birds heard her. Even the worldly noises were blocked by the peace of the buildings.

Hidden from view of those who didn’t know how to look, how to listen for the wind whispering in the trees, or the splash of the joyful koi.

People walking by hardly noticed the street kid, quietly singing in the weed-infested, garbage strewn abandoned lot.

 

Written for Friday Fictioneers, October 7, 2016; image by © CEAyr

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