He waits, staring at the sky for what seems like an eternity for the audience. They hold in their excitement with bated breath and try not let that flickering feeling fade into agitation. It is a long time spent in almost complete silence, so the task is not easy. But they know the wait will be worth it. They know that the cold of night, biting at their fingers, is worth it, as they stand in the open arena where he has called them together. They know their aching legs and tired eyes are worth it. They know all this must be worth it.
His eyes watch the clouded skies, and when something in their heavenly portants signals for him to move for the first time in hours, he flexes the cold from his fingers. He reaches down to the unusual piano, with its open top, and plays the first note.
The audience roars, the hours of tension escaping through their applause.
He moves into the first phase of this hitherto unknown composition and the audience stands awestruck at its beauty. But if feels, to the more expert of the listeners gathered there, that there is something missing. Some part of the song that has been forgotten or left unwritten.
The audience feels a few raindrops fall on their faces and wince at the cold, unpleasant sensation.
Then the clouds burst.
A torrent of rain crashes to earth and the audience shrinks in fear.
But he keeps playing.
Then they hear it. The missing elements of the new composition. The rain strikes the strings of the open-topped piano and the air is filled with a glittering parade of harmonies, the likes of which have never been heard before, nor will ever be heard again.
Paddy Dobson
4th April 2022