She will not do it up

Since I left town last week, a small tent city has sprung up beneath the great trees of the Yard.  I was crossing in the early dusk, a few late-hanging leaves above me and a scuffle below, when I heard the sprightly melancholic sound of klezmer.  Two played:  a cello and trombone.  I listened and I gave.

It braided beautifully with sovay 's Wednesday reading:  the bittersweet awareness and the dream.

Nine