Car Park Symphony
He pulled into the car park as dusk gathered her skirts and rustled them like autumn leaves around the gutters and across the playground.
With the keys removed from the ignition the radio ceased its duet with the engine. The keys jingled quietly until muted in his palm.
The staccato squeak of swings and the arpeggio laughter of two toddlers formed the opening prelude as he walked to the boot of the car.
In the open the boot he rigged a music stand, attached a light and pegged down the music before opening the case and taking out his violin.
Cradling the violin under his chin he plucked the strings to tune midst an abrasive chorus of screeching lorikeets roosting.
He rested the bow against the strings, pausing to listen to the sounds surrounding him. A smile formed on his lips as he added his own song.
His song finished as the orange and red blended into velvet blue. The lorikeets were silent and the swings had ceased their metronomic pulse.
The toddlers stood hand-in-hand, eyes focused on the violin. He bowed and they ran back to their mothers. The music echoed in their footsteps.