pete i wander down this narrow street, this alley of music. it closes me from the world, yet fills me with smiles. a man sits in a window singing with a beautiful woman, "I'll give to you a box of visions..."

i keep going and hear a piano softly playing in the distance. as i am drawn nearer it becomes darker and calls out to me. then silence falls.

the moon hangs above the exit of this alley, the stars are pure in the sky. the holy borealis dances to the piano as it picks up again, telling the tale of a journey into darkness. a tale of a young man and a young woman.

she sits on her horse with the valleys and highlands of the kawarthas spreading out all around them. her auburn hair whips about her smooth face in the winds. her lips form silent words that i cannot hear, but the boy understands her whisperings. her rustic cloak, the shade of fallen cedar needles, dances all around her deep green shirt. her hands rest calmly on her long khakhi riding skirt.

then the music changes and i am twirled into her words.

"to the north the muskoka's begin, but it will not be long before he must ride south. we should move east, to the outaouis. we will be safer in that valley then among the people of these hills and streams."

the dream fades as i keep walking down the alley. a young woman begins singing in a language i can't readily recongize. it has the harsh sounds of german, but moulded beautiful to the gentle tune. most likely it is some celtic tongue, still spoken in the new brunswick and nova scotian hills, on isolated islands of the irish sea, and in long protected hold outs of the old ways in those great isles.

where is love but here, in this alley, full of this music? i smile and walk further, not wanting to leave, though the exit and the moon draw near.
Doar . 040809
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