Linden heard the music over the chatter of the people and the chirps of the birds. It was very faint, almost overpowered by the hustle and bustle of everyday life. But once he heard those first few notes his ear grabbed hold. The music, the sound, the inspiration, was coming from the cello resting between the knees of a woman with bright red hair. The music began to tell him a story. It was a story of sorrow and shame, triumph and loss, hope and freedom.
And the story inspired him, more than the storyteller could ever know.
He’d been trying to make ends meet, trying to find someone or somewhere that would take him in and let him prove his worth. Trying to find his purpose in a sea of other people’s purposes. Trying to find the will to take that next step forward into unknown territory.
His story was one of many. One of many like the people walking beside him, like the birds in the sky, and the woman with the cello. She was telling him her story through her music. Telling him that it was all going to be okay. The story he’d only just heard had changed him, inspired him.
He wanted to tell her his story.
Linden found his strength hidden in the back of his mind. It had been there the whole time, tucked away. The music had unlocked it. It encouraged him to take a breath, to tilt his chin high, to continue to listen to the music and let it bring a smile to his face.
He had been inspired. It was time to take a step forward; it was time for Linden to keep on living. Hope was there and he had found it, all thanks to the woman with the bright red hair and a cello resting between her knees.