Childhood days.

There was a tiny little apartment building next to our trailer park.

Sometimes on a summers evening a man would stand by his open window and play the bagpipes.

A private concert for us.

Whoever heard first would shout to the rest of us.

We all would clamor and climb the fence to sit on top of it,

To watch and listen.

It was eerily quiet when he stopped and closed his window. At least until we climbed down off the fence

To resume playing whatever it was we were playing in our imaginary world.

The momentary suspension of time

Lifted.

Never spoke to him

But enjoyed the music.

Still remember the mystery and fascination with the melodies.