Chapter 35: A conversation (a guitar that dreamt it was)

“What will happen to music when there is no one left to sing?”
 asked the guitar to its strings
“Humans aren’t the only ones who sing,”
 the strings replied as a bird landed atop the guitar
 squirmed through the strings and into the guitar’s hole
It was the first living touch they’d both had felt in a long time

The guitar laughed, the feathers tickling its insides, but the sound faded
 ”But what is the use of music without anyone to listen?”
The bird plucked at the D string, a thoughtful sound that rung out through the garden
 ”Is it not what you enjoy?” asked the strings
as twigs joined the bird inside the sound hole

“Oh yes,” the guitar vibrated with an excitement that made the strings hum
 To be filled with music
 To be held and played
“It is the reason for my existence, after all”

“It may have been the intent when you were made,” the strings allowed
 ”But it is not the only thing that you can do”
The bird’s beak pecked a rhythm from inside the guitar
 ”Nor is it the last thing you will be”

“A guitar is a guitar,” was the petulant reply

“Were you not once a tree?” the strings corrected gently
 ”Just as we were once an animal”
The twigs inside the guitar scraped against the sides
 as the bird hopped about

“Perhaps,” the strings said into the quiet
 ”Music was not music in the past”
 ”And it will change as we have into something we have yet to learn”
“Or better still, one we’ll never know”

“Better?” came the question in the midst of several chirps

“Yes. There is better yet to come.”

There was a sound
 that was a strum
  that was a sigh
   that was …

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