Rambling in an unfamiliar wood,

I happened upon a young man sitting at a piano.

 

He did not look up as I approached.

He did not speak in response to my greeting.

 

He was not real, or at least not alive.

 

He and his piano had been there for a long, long time.

 

His instrument was half rotted away, leaf-covered, silent.

 

He appeared a plastic mannequin, weathered and pale.

 

What happenstance had placed them in this unlikely setting?

 

I pondered this as I sat on a nearby stump and ate my hiker’s lunch.

 

I decided I’d keep them company while I rested for a bit.

 

I said, “It’s very nice to make your acquaintance, sir.”

He didn’t answer.

 

“You live in a lovely wood.”

No reply.

 

He remained mute when I asked how long he’d been there.

 

I chattered on.

He made no comment to any of my remarks.

 

In an hour, I stood to leave. I doffed my baseball cap

and told him I’d enjoyed spending time with him,

and turned to leave.

 

As I walked away, I heard music.