Memories and Melodies

Memories and Melodies.

There was once a young woman who had a very special friend. So special was their friendship, that she cherished it above her own life. She treasured the friendship of her friend because they could play beautiful music on the flute.
Every day the young woman would sit under a tree in the meadow while her friend would play melodious music to her. The young woman was never happier. The soft breeze would blow gently through her hair and the sun would kiss her cheeks. Butterflies would flutter about her as though dancing to the flowing melodies and birds would dip their beaks into the climbing honey-suckle as the sweet strains reached up into the branches.
The days seemed to be endless. The sun always shone and the woman’s heart were filled with such beatitude. Each afternoon they would meet by the old gate that lead to the meadows and walk hand-in-hand through the fields and as she sat down under the low boughs, her friend would begin to play. The young woman’s thoughts were, that they would be together forever.
Then one day the young woman waited by the gate but her friend didn’t come. She waited until the afternoon sun began to lose its strength. Anxious, she trembled at the thought her friend may have forgotten their arrangement. But how could that be? They had been coming to this place for so long now.
The young woman opened the gate and stepped into the meadow alone. Carefully she closed the gate behind her and pausing, she looked once more along the path that led to the gate hoping to see her friend appear, but her friend wasn’t there.
Slowly she trod through the tall grass and she noticed that the birds did not sing and that the butterflies did not dance but lay silent, their wings spread open, in sad surrender. She walked to her favourite spot and sat down. Bowing her head, tears of sorrow began to fall to the ground and as she wept she heard a voice whisper to her.
“My lady, why do you weep?”
The young woman looked up, dabbed the tears from her eyes but could see no one. “Who’s there!” she called.
“It is I, the breeze.”
“Oh,” the young woman quietly exclaimed. She composed herself
then said, “My friend, who comes with me each day to the trees in the meadow,
today has not come, and I am sad. I am sad because I miss the beautiful music. I also miss the wonderful companionship that we would share together.”
“This is indeed a sad day,” the breeze murmured.
“Why so?”
“Your friend will not be coming.”
“Tomorrow then,” she said, brightening.
“Sadly no,” the breeze answered. “You shall see your friend no longer.”
The young woman bowed her head and wept with grief. So deep was her heartache that her tears fell endlessly until they had become a small pool. “I shall never hear the melodic notes of the flute ever again,” she sobbed.
“Oh, but you shall,” replied the breeze.
“How?”
“Close your eyes and think of all the happy times that you had together,” the breeze said.
The young woman did as the breeze suggested and turned her thoughts to the days gone by. Her ears were filled with the soothing sounds of the flute and once again she heard the flowing melodies. She smiled as the wind carried the tunes through the branches once more. Her sadness had turned to laughter as in her minds-eye she saw the butterflies dancing once again.
Opening her eyes, the music stopped. “Why is it that I can no longer hear
the flute?” she asked.
“But you can,” replied the breeze. “You can hear the music and the voice of your friend when ever you wish. You only have to close your eyes, and you can relive those happy times.”
The woman closed her eyes and once more the voice of her friend was
entwined with the notes of the flute.
“You see,” the breeze continued, “the voice of your friend and the music of the flute are forever locked away in your heart and your mind is the key that will release then when ever you desire.
The woman swayed from side to side, her eyes closed as her memory played the music from her heart. Opening her eyes, she asked, “Why is it that I shall never see my friend again?”
The breeze touched her face and said, “Look into the pool at your knees, the one made by your own tears.”
Looking into the pool, she saw her reflection and she saw, not the image
of a young woman, but the face that had the lines of age. And her hair was no longer the colour of shining chestnut but had turned to sliver gray. The woman then realized the reason why she would never see her friend again but she was happy. Happy because she could remember all the days she had spent with her friend over the years and her heart would burst with joy because she had spent a lifetime of happiness with that one.
Then her countenance became sullen. “I am once more in distress,” she said, “because my friend gave me such delight but I gave nothing back in return.”
“Not so!” answered the breeze. “You see you gave of yourself. But more than that, you gave your friend the most sought after gift of all, that of friendship and you made your friend happy, because you were happy.”
The woman smiled and was content. She rose to her feet and left behind her favourite place and the pool her tears had made, but she took with her the memory of her friend, the music that was played and the friendship that was cherished.

The End.