Rabbits in the Garden

F. Chopin : Nocturne in C sharp minor

Rain and muck and crosswalks be damned, he stomped down the sidewalk and paused angrily at the corner. He looked to his right, across the street toward a park he had seen several times but never visited. It might be nice there, he thought, but it could be busy. He looked around at his other immediate options.

He was situated in a rather odd area. It looked as if many buildings had been built and subsequently demolished along either side of the street. The tall and stately wooden exterior of his own store sat like the core of an apple long eaten, surrounded now by empty lots and the occasional single story house. The only other immediate feature was just across the street, a small but colorful looking park which was frequently packed with locals. It being a popular area was what kept Marc away so far, but upon closer inspection, he felt it looked rather empty. Perhaps it was too early in the day for the usual Friday crowd.

He made up his mind and crossed the street. As he approached the ornate metal fence that spanned the property, more of the flora was revealed. He wished for a moment that he knew anything about plants, before thinking better of the idea. They were inspiring, and that was all he needed to know.

He watched as a tiny brown bird tried to decide which wiry twig gave the best bounce when landed on. Its little body caused a ripple effect each time, bringing to attention the round leaves and delicate pink flowers. As his eyes traced from the branches and down the trunk, he noticed with some surprise that those same pink flowers were also growing straight out of the tree's bark.

How odd, he thought, and continued walking.

Approaching the gate, he hesitated. It was large and ornate, and intimidating, but open nonetheless. Shrubs and vines laid claim to most of its real estate; it seemed it had been left standing open for at least a few months. Beyond the gate he could see a private sitting area surrounded by colorful trees, but anything else was concealed by the greenery. Standing there inspecting the heavy wrought iron, he noticed that no visitors were passing. This reassured him. He continued along his path.

The fine gravel, sodden with rainwater, hardly gave a sound as he stepped across the boundary of the fence. He strolled curiously to the small table off to one side of the path, accompanied by two chairs decorated with delicately wrought filigree. The table itself was metal, with a tiled mosaic top. Most importantly, the chairs were empty.

That's a good sign.

A bit braver, he proceeded down the narrow gravel path until it led to a break in the trees.

In front of him was a much larger clearing, which looked to be the center of the park. The gravel gave way to a type of sunbleached flagstone, which was littered with smooth pockmarks, beaten into the stone by probably a century's worth of rain. A quiet burble was emitting from a fountain in the center. The fountain was small; roughly five feet in diameter, and shorter than Marc. (He was tall, but not unreasonably, he felt.) The carved structure that rose from the pool below was in the shape of a woman, who was tipping out a large jug. The water from around her feet cascaded out of the jug and back into its resting place, seemingly forever. She watched solemnly at this cyclical procession. He did as well.

The rustling of an excited squirrel through the trees shook Marc from his thoughts. His hand tightened around the handle of his violin case as he set his mind to finding a place to practice.

There were several benches along the treeline: some of stone, others of metal. Marc failed to recognize the few scattered log sections as seats, or perhaps refused to. Either way, they were all empty. He was alone. The stone woman's persistent work at filling an ever-emptying reservoir was too distracting this close, so he retreated closer to the trees, finding a nice spot that was adorned with the dappled sunlight they offered. A breeze compelled the leaves to answer with a soft shhh as he opened his case. They were ready to listen.