To the anonymous bagpiper in the park:
Thank you for your sweet songs that waft North through the streets and find me on the loneliest of nights. Your music floats through my open windows and searches me out, in my solitude. It makes this world feel so intimate.
I don't recognize your songs, only the soft melodies of a very public solitude.
I came to find you twice this week. I thought I should tell you I was listening to your musical lament. It sounds so personal, I didn't want you to expose yourself too much to a stranger.
When I arrived at the park I was surprised by how many people were still there after dark. The municipal lighting was clearly missing from the picture that night and an already musty atmosphere from the surrounding forest fires was complimented by the soft drone of your pipes.
You stayed hidden among the trees, elusive and reticent.
I'm glad we never met. I like it better this way, an inconspicuous muse that calms my anxious mind from among the cottonwoods. A faceless friend.
