Music From Above

Frustrated, I crumpled up another sheet of paper and tossed it to the ever growing pile of papers on the floor. I had lost my spark, my inspiration. My creativity well had run dry. I banged my head lightly on the desk. Nothing I did was working and I had a deadline to meet in two weeks. Maybe I just need to refresh myself. There was a park nearby maybe that would help. The outside world had abundance of things to choose from there must be something I can write about out there. I grabbed my notebook and light jacket and began my walk. I watched at tired parents called out to their hyperactive children hoping to tire them out.
Always happy and bright,
The sounds of children are such a delight.
I continued walking into the thick forest that surrounded the park.
Broken condoms on the floor,
Looks like the makings of a teenaged whore
I sat down under a oak tree that provided much shade from the bright sun. I looked in disgust at what I had written. I was better than this garbage. I sighed and closed my eyes leaning my head against the trunk. Soft music played in my ears. I opened one eye and looked up. There, perched on a branch was a girl with a small harp. Her fingers moved quickly over the strings, her eyes closed completely lost in the music. I sat quietly as not to disturb her. I sat, completely relaxed, for another hour before I packed my things and left. I hope she’ll be back tomorrow my little musician in a tree.
“Hello?” I tired to rub the sleep out of my eyes, I took a quick glance at my alarm clock 11:13 a.m.
“Hi, I was looking for a Mr. William Miles. This is his publicist Michelle Brooks and I’m wondering if he forgot about his deadline in two weeks!”
“Michelle, hi, how are you?”
“Don’t do this to me Billy. My ass is on the line here. You need to get your rear in gear and finish submitting these poems. My Boss is asking I have to keep telling him ‘It’s on the way.’ Do you know what kind of stress your putting me through here?”
I listened silently as Michelle finished her mini rant, “Michelle, please calm down. I just had a momentarily loss of inspiration.”
Michelle heaved a sigh, “Alright Billy, but I’m telling you-“
“Goodbye Michelle.”
I sighed. Damn Deadlines. Damn writer’s block. I was going to finish this poem if it killed me. I quickly threw on a shirt & pair of jeans, grabbed my note pad and headed outside. It was already bright and sunny as I made my way to the oak tree. There she was perched on the branch. Except this time she was playing a piece that was filled with hurt. As I continued to study her I could see her tear stained cheeks.
“Excuse me,” Her eyes shot open and she almost fell from her spot “Sorry I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“How long have you been here?” She wiped her cheeks quickly.
“I just got here. Well, I was here yesterday as well. I’m Billy.” I offered her my hand to shake.
“I’m Bernadette. But all my friends call me Bird.”
I laughed, “Well that’s ironic.”
“Do you mind helping me down?”
I help her dainty hand as she slowly climbed from the tree. She handed me her harp as she wiped off her long bohemian skirt.
“So Mr. Billy, why were you spying on me?”
“It’s a long story, that maybe I can tell you over ice-cream?”
“And that’s my story,” I stated finishing off my vanilla ice-cream cone.
“I’ve never been used as a muse before.” She smiled as she bit into her rocky road cone.
“Now tell me why were you in that tree?”
She shrugged, “No one bothered me up there. It was just me & my music.” She lick her cone thoughtfully, “Well at least until you came along.”
“Sorry about that. So, why were you crying today?”
Immediately her face fell, “My father he died today.”
“How’d he die?”
“With a smile on his face.” She bit her lip before speaking again,” He was battling cancer.”
“I’m sorry.”
She gave me a sad smile, “I know, everyone is.”
My heart twanged seeing her go to this depressed state. Just from the few moments I spent with her I could tell she was usually a happy person. You don’t see genuinely happy people that often anymore.
“Will you meet me back at my apartment tomorrow?”
Her eyes held a question, “I don’t know.”
“I promise no funny business I just want to show you something.”
“Alright.”
I wrote down my address, “Be there about 3 o’ clock.”
“You showed up!”
“Do you think I’d lie to you?” Bernadette smiled as she stepped into my house, “Wow great to see you clean up for guests.”
I shrugged, “I didn’t really have time to clean.”
She took off her jacket and hung it on the coat rack, “I was just teasing. Now what do you have to show me?” She wore another bohemian type skirt with a black tank top that showed the sparrow she had tattooed on her chest.
“Sit,” I pulled her to the couch and stood in front of her, “You have inspired me to write a poem that I shall read to you now.”
Music From Above
Her willowy fingers move quickly across the strings
Angelic music, she plays from the trees.
She has golden hair spun of straw, and the greenest eyes I’ve seen thus far
She’s so stick thin, that maybe if I blow hard enough she’ll fly away in the wind
She sits quietly in the old oak tree
Her sweet soft lullaby washing over me and her salty tears rain down on me
“Well?” I asked as I finished.
She jumped from the couch and hugged me, “Thank you.” She whispered softly.