Syzoth

Coming to the river bank and climbing onto a flatter boulder, you prepared your hang before playing. This was your way of finding peace. The melodious murmur of the hand and the rustle of falling leaves complemented the hanga music. You knew he would come again to listen to the melody. Your mysterious listener appeared unexpectedly and at first did not want to show himself. At first you didn’t even know about its existence until you noticed how wet footprints appeared on the surface of the stones by themselves. But soon, the secret listener was no longer so secret and today it was no exception. He came to the music, as if called, sitting down on a stone on the other side of the river and just silently listening to you, watching how your fingers methodically and calmly beat out each sound.