**The Barrow-Downs Birthday Mailbag - May 2006** - The Barrow-Downs Discussion Forum

symestreem · 06-01-2006, 09:49 PM

A breathless young woman dashed up the path to the mailbox, a violin bouncing against her back with each jarring step. Had she possessed the power of speech, she might have groaned at her own inexcusable tardiness. Just because I've been in far, foreign lands is no excuse to be late! she thought furiously. Mother always wondered how I could keep time well enough to play when I couldn't keep it to be anywhere else. She skidded to a halt outside the ominous dark mound, her worn boots throwing up clouds of dust, and stared in dismay at the empty mailbox. I'm really late!

Not to be daunted, she swung her oft-patched bag off of her shoulder and withdrew a sheaf of parchment that was crisp and clean in comparison to the rest of her belongings. Kneeling nervously by the door to the barrow, she slid it under the threshold, then leapt back. The parchment was the music to a birthday song that she'd composed especially for the occasion.

She quickly retreated several paces and swung her fiddle off of her back, tucking it under her chin and gripping the bow with an ease that spoke of long practice. First she played the traditional birthday song, embellishing it with chords and trills. Then she shifted the fiddle a little and began to play the song she had slipped under the door. The mute musician could not sing the words as was proper, but she thought them in her head as a counterpoint to the singing of the fiddle.

Many thanks for times well spent here,
Felicitations on six long years.
Hopeful wishes for more time near
Sharp minds, good hearts, spirits of cheer.

Measures of lore and riddles unclear,
Persist on the 'Net, don't disappear;
Let the glowing green words persevere
To welcome us all, to all appear.

After repeating the chorus and letting the last note die away, she hesitated only to secure her cherished instrument before turning and fleeing down the path which she had come. Surely the dreaded Wight would be furious with her for disturbing his valued repose.

06-01-2006, 09:49 PM	#38
symestreem Face in the Water Join Date: Dec 2003 Posts: 728	A breathless young woman dashed up the path to the mailbox, a violin bouncing against her back with each jarring step. Had she possessed the power of speech, she might have groaned at her own inexcusable tardiness. Just because I've been in far, foreign lands is no excuse to be late! she thought furiously. Mother always wondered how I could keep time well enough to play when I couldn't keep it to be anywhere else. She skidded to a halt outside the ominous dark mound, her worn boots throwing up clouds of dust, and stared in dismay at the empty mailbox. I'm really late! Not to be daunted, she swung her oft-patched bag off of her shoulder and withdrew a sheaf of parchment that was crisp and clean in comparison to the rest of her belongings. Kneeling nervously by the door to the barrow, she slid it under the threshold, then leapt back. The parchment was the music to a birthday song that she'd composed especially for the occasion. She quickly retreated several paces and swung her fiddle off of her back, tucking it under her chin and gripping the bow with an ease that spoke of long practice. First she played the traditional birthday song, embellishing it with chords and trills. Then she shifted the fiddle a little and began to play the song she had slipped under the door. The mute musician could not sing the words as was proper, but she thought them in her head as a counterpoint to the singing of the fiddle. Many thanks for times well spent here, Felicitations on six long years. Hopeful wishes for more time near Sharp minds, good hearts, spirits of cheer. Measures of lore and riddles unclear, Persist on the 'Net, don't disappear; Let the glowing green words persevere To welcome us all, to all appear. After repeating the chorus and letting the last note die away, she hesitated only to secure her cherished instrument before turning and fleeing down the path which she had come. Surely the dreaded Wight would be furious with her for disturbing his valued repose.