After silence, that which comes nearest to expressing the inexpressible is music.
- Aldous Huxley, English critic & novelist (1894 - 1963) "Music at Night", 1931
Two winters had come and gone. Two winters and more since the last he visited the shop.
Tucked in a narrow alley around the corner from the Minstrel Hall, the shop would be easily overlooked by the casual passerby. The wooden sign hung on rusted chains over the door was so weather worn that it looked like a panel of blank gray splintering boards. The storefront looked as if it hadn't been washed or cleaned for more than a generation. On occasion a gray tabby could be seen laying in the storefront, sunning on the faded velvet fabric. Save for those moments of feline sunning, nothing was displayed in the storefront that gave any clue to what the shop was about, or that a business even occupied the space.
However a shop did exist behind the nondescript storefront and the too faded sign. One that the Barrister used to frequent for rosin blocks and varnish, among other things. This day, the window display was empty. Lucien stood in front of the door for a breath, hands in his pockets as he stared up at the shop sign bleached out by the weather. Perhaps he imagined it. Perhaps the yet low winter sun caught just enough of the remaining paint. Nevertheless there he saw the faint outlines of the original shop sign...a treble clef and bar lines of a piece of sheet music. A small unseen and short-lived smile hinted upon his mien.
Another moment passed before he reached for the door latch. A quiet breath was drawn and the door was opened, sending a small bell sounding a tinny jingle to announce his entrance.
Two winters had come and gone. Two winters and more since the last he visited the shop.
Tucked in a narrow alley around the corner from the Minstrel Hall, the shop would be easily overlooked by the casual passerby. The wooden sign hung on rusted chains over the door was so weather worn that it looked like a panel of blank gray splintering boards. The storefront looked as if it hadn't been washed or cleaned for more than a generation. On occasion a gray tabby could be seen laying in the storefront, sunning on the faded velvet fabric. Save for those moments of feline sunning, nothing was displayed in the storefront that gave any clue to what the shop was about, or that a business even occupied the space.
However a shop did exist behind the nondescript storefront and the too faded sign. One that the Barrister used to frequent for rosin blocks and varnish, among other things. This day, the window display was empty. Lucien stood in front of the door for a breath, hands in his pockets as he stared up at the shop sign bleached out by the weather. Perhaps he imagined it. Perhaps the yet low winter sun caught just enough of the remaining paint. Nevertheless there he saw the faint outlines of the original shop sign...a treble clef and bar lines of a piece of sheet music. A small unseen and short-lived smile hinted upon his mien.
Another moment passed before he reached for the door latch. A quiet breath was drawn and the door was opened, sending a small bell sounding a tinny jingle to announce his entrance.