Moonlight Symphony

1st Note | Of Goals and Street Urchins

"Good morning, chaps!"

She jumped off from the crate she was standing on, landing squarely on the cobblestones of the plaza. Bowing low towards her small audience of busy passersby and curious pigeons, she smiled knowing her daily routine had started yet again. The day had proved itself great with the slight peek of the sun from behind the thick clouds. It had been raining for days on end greatly affecting her daily income consisting of a feeble amount of pennies and shillings. This was the perfect day to earn back the money she had lost during those days of non-stop downpour.

"Oh stop your nonsense, Watsonia!" Arthur groaned beside her with his fiddle ready on his shoulder. Watsonia grinned slyly showing her pearly whites as she straightened out her tattered shirt which she had just picked off from somebody's clothesline. Watsonia took a deep breath contemplating on the melancholic story of her new composition.

She raised her face to the sky. The sound of the mundane clamor of people as they furtively go on with their lives reached her ears. Please. Please. She uttered to the heavens softly. Just for a few minutes, lend us you ears. Her eyes of deep blue searched the wild blue yonder for some sort of inspiration. The skies just looked back at her in a vast blue blank.

Arthur started out with a few low notes which echoed throughout the busy plaza causing a lot of people to look towards them and stare in wonder. People started flocking around them- curious to what was supposed to happen. For those two young musicians, the world had stopped the moment the first note was produced. With their music, they knew they are far more richer than any other gent in the land who owns a roomful of crystals and things of value. Within it, they find solace and strength. It was music that held them together during those dark and cold days back when they were still in the orphanage by the countryside.

Closing her eyes, Watsonia started singing. A vision of a young gentleman with tired, heavy lidded caramel eyes appeared in the back of her mind. She smiled in reflection. Her voice a soft, haunting soprano that occupied the whole place, filling people with the very essence of hope and love. They were engrossed, gawking at them in awe. Pigeons cock their heads to one side in perturbation - wondering how such a big bird can exist. It seemed as though the wind had stopped blowing - as if everything had ceased to move. Not a breath from the wind or a slight rustle from the leaves was heard, only the tragic tune from the fiddle held by the little boy and the compelling soprano from the girl resonated all throughout the open space.  

"Beneath this tattered clothing, 

These rags I wear in shame, 

There hides a lady weeping, 

For her lost beloved's tale.

A man of steel and silver, 

A precious gift to me he gave, 

To me his youthful lover, 

Whose heart forever aches.

My soul it yearns his wisdom, 

As I clutch my flower sore, 

I wish to see him by the morn, 

Or breathe this life no more.." 

As the song ended, the fiddle went up to a climax. A flurry of notes reverberated in every listeners' chest. They were moved in deep pity as the fiddle went low again, its strings sang soft fragile sustained tunes that told the story of a heart-broken lady searching for her lost love. The audience stared at the two musicians as they played further on.

They beheld the musicians' rugged state. The boy was around the age of 12 and 13, his eyes hinted a slight blue as he sullenly played around the strings of his old fiddle. His lips dry and his fingers calloused, he was the perfect example of a street urchin making an honest living. He stood like a boy who loves games although he carried himself like that of a man of many toils. A man who had spent most of his days with his eyebrows close to each other.