I walk in a song.

A short story.

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1. I walk in a song.

 

I walk in a song. My feet create a steady beat on the brick sidewalk. Click, click, click. The wind, it doesn’t take long to join in with the beat, starting a slow hum to its pace. The trees dance with the wind, adding a few shakes, their own signature. The birds, proud beings, find this melody worthy of their skills and lend a quick chatter for the background. The autumn leaves, bitter creatures; I feel I must explain. They have spent their youth on the tidy grips of a tree, in comfort and leisure. When the cold bites a tree’s delicate branch, the tightened hand loosens and the leaves are abandoned to the howls of wind. It is uncomfortable, to toss and turn so easily, to spend each day on the ground, shredded by every ignorant boy. The leaves feel the song is pitiful and mock its tune. In the tame beast of the wind, a monster emerges, its rage sending the leaves in turmoil, scattering in the air. When settled, they reluctantly agree to throw in a few rustles for the song. The grass timidly offers up its own meager tune, which is warmly accepted. While it is not as profound as the other melodies, it softens them and creates a necessary balance. Each rhythm is molded together by my ear; my eyes care not. It is a song of intensity, of serenity, of beauty. I want to stop to listen, to absorb the music, for the tune is only heard by an attentive ear, one that is still. But I cannot. If the beat of my steps falls flat, so will the rest of the song. So I keep walking, on and on. I must hold the beat of a song I will never hear. I walk in a song.

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