Good morning all. It is a bright and fresh Monday morning. New week, new month even. I just flipped the calendar page and I have to say I love that moment where the entire month stretches out before me. In a little while I’ll have to start putting down the November appointments, but for now I like that moment where all the squares are clean and empty. While my planner has all the details, the big things get put on the wall calendar. This year I’ll even have days blocked out for Thanksgiving travel. But all that is for later. Right now, open month. And the first prompt of November. Are you ready? Good, then let’s kick off the month.
I like this one. I have no idea where it is going, but I really want to work on this story. This definitely gets bookmarked for later work. what a great way to start the month.
Monday, November 1st: The first notes took me by surprise.
The first notes took me by surprise. They flittered through the air, unrecognizable at first. Unexpected as they were. It was shocking to hear, until my brain caught up with my ears. Music. Violin. By then the random notes caused by the testing of the bow against the strings ceased and a song was being played. I didn’t know enough of classical music to identify it, but it sounded beautiful.
Beautiful but sad.
The song sounded as though the musician couldn’t cry or mourn and instead poured the emotion into notes instead of tears. I felt something deep inside me shift. A loss long buried threatened to surface. I held it back. This was neither the time nor the place for it. This was a new place and a new adventure, not the time for old grief.
Curious, I walked to the railing and leaned over looking into the courtyard below. My rooms were on the third floor but the building was a hollow cube, like a square doughnut and the central court yard ran through all of the floors. The musician was on the ground. Standing in the scraggly grass.
While someone attempted to add a garden in the courtyard, the high sides of the building meant most of the area was in deep shadow. Efforts had long ago been abandoned at any sort of garden maintenance and now most of the court yard was bare earth, but in the central portion where sun poured down like a spotlight, the grass grew long and wavy. It was here that the violinist stood as though wanting some contact with nature, even if it was just a tangle of unkempt grass.
I could only see the top of the violinist’s head. And their shoulders. It looked male. Or at least broad enough to be male. It could have been female I suppose. But for some reason male seem to suit better. The body swayed with the music as he played as though affected by the tune as well.
It felt like I was intruding on a private moment. I withdrew from the railing and walked back to the room that was to be mine for at least the upcoming year. The music floated up the central courtyard, like smoke from a fire, following me as I fumbled with the unfamiliar lock. The door opened stiffly as though slightly warped and unused to use.
I stepped inside. The temperature plummeted. It hadn’t exactly been warm outside, but the sun kept the cold from biting. Now even with my coat, hat scarf and gloves on, I felt the chill. The apartment was small and had thick insulating walls. When warm, I suspected they would trap the heat and become some sort of thermal bank. Now they were like cubes of ice. I saw the thermostat on the wall and moved to check it out. No one bothered to turn the heat on. I clicked it on and spun the dial to a warmer than average temperature, hoping to bring warmth as soon as possible. I had been traveling in my winter clothes for too long and wanted the chance to shed them. Even though the heat had not been turned on, my belongings seemed to have safely arrived. They are piled in a heap in what I supposed would be called my living room.
Ten til Midnight 