Overthink

The Mute Fiddler

I was walking downtown when I saw a small isolated hut made up of scrapped wood. There lived a man who lost his ability to speak but was blessed to play the fiddle. He played cadenzas, sonatas, concertos, but there was one song who caught my attention. He was visible outside from a small window-like opening and I tried to distract him by clapping to get his attention. "Well, that was easy", I muttered as he looked curious about why I distracted him, "I just want to talk to you, Man, you're great". He managed to put a little smile in his face. The fiddler then welcomed me into his home and treated me like a friend. "I can't speak, sorry", he signed to me. I asked him what was the name of the song he played that captured me the most and he wrote something in a piece of paper:

"It wasn't a song nor any kind of music. It was the sound of brokenness you just heard. It was the sound of my hopes, praying that soon she would hear it once again even if it's too late. I tried once, in front of her, now I need to try again. Maybe the wind would help me reach out to her. You see, I can't speak and through music, I can, but she's either deaf or playing deaf."

I was out for words.

"Until I have life, I'll keep going on."