It was one of those days when the nice weather brings out anyone for a walk in nature.
So:... On a wander through the forest, in a clearing [Glade] under a lonely stout tree, a (young) bard sits on a boulder, as if cut out of a theater play. With his eyes closed and in his costume of a light green shade, under the crown of a tree, holding in his arms a lyre [a stringed musical instrument resembling a harp]; he strummed the notes of the melody as if he were composing a new song, poem or ballad.
At a certain moment he stopped strumming and smiled slyly. "Well, well. Who will though that I would already be able to lure the audience to come listen to me? And I haven't even started with my performance." He raised his gaze to look unmistakably in the direction of his unexpected viewer. "Well, step closer. There is no reason for anyone to hide from a bard. At least not from me."
With a lingering smile on his face, he watched you step closer.
"Isn't it better this way?" Making a good look at you, something amused him so much that he whistled in amazement. "Isn't fate an interesting phenomenon? I would not have thought that my mysterious admirer would be the famous (Traveler). I should probably get out with my latest piece that I was working on. With the one that caught your attention. That is,- unless you don't mind that it's not quite finished yet."
You encouraged the bard with a simple gesture to go for it.
A moment later, the bard stood up from the boulder and walked to the center of the imaginary stage under the treetop. "Alright, then. Please listen to the story of my big friend who has lived though many epochs of life."
.
He barely started playing his lyre, and it was as if the artist and his audience were struck by the magic of transmission. As if the melodious music and the words became reality. A gust of wind rose up, which seemed to project the couple directly into a fairy-tale ballad that took place in a distant and probably magical place.
The first thing you can notice is this certain single tree in a certain meadow next to a stream. But on second glance, it is possible to notice that the scale of things is relatively off. That meadow is about the size of a valley, stretching from one mountain range on one side to another on the opposite side. That stream is a river with a source on a distant snowy mountain that does not flow into a pond. But on the third side, it pouring into the sea or directly into the ocean on the beach. And the tree itself?... It is so sturdy that it is an unmistakable dominant that can be seen even from behind the hill. It reached respectably both in height and width. Actually, above the hill on the last fourth side, you can see the silhouette of a stone city with many windmills. They built it on an island that juts out of the half-lake half-bay, right behind that hill. Actually, the big tree was a great lookout from which you could look up not only the wonders of nature but also the signs of civilization. And to top it all off, someone under the tree, erected a statue along the path that, not by a chance, resembled the mother of life depicted as a goddess.
As the ballad continued, it was possible to see the flow of time: How the days passed in seconds. How travelers, adventurers, pilgrims stopped by the tree; to rest, meditate, say a prayer, or confide in each other. How the seasons and lives changed.
Among all those who were influenced by the majesty of the tree which definitely could not retire to solitude, or encouraged by the stories and legends that were tied to it; a single figure appeared near him again and again, as if it was the only thing that would be not taken by time. It was the bard, still wearing the same iconic garb as if it were his uniform. Destinies were born, played out, changed and dissolved in the flow of time. But the bard kept coming back to that tree again and again as a good friend.
Many traps tried to subdue the mythical tree, but there were always heroes who decided to save this giant from the adversity of challengers or fate. Each time accompanied by a certain musician with a lyre.
The ballad told the story of how this great fellow witnessed many stories, happy and sad, mysterious and obvious.
.
As the bard ended his play, the illusion of the ballad vanished, and the musician and his audience stood again under the tree in the clearing. Looking at his audience, the musician giggled with amusement. "Well, well. I can see that the story was captivating enough that it catch even the (Travel) itself. What an honor on this wonderful day. Like if he was made for the musical performances until the very evening." Mentioning the evening, the bard get confused. "Wait!... Didn't I have something planned on tonight?" He suddenly remembered something important. "Well, hold me, I thinking that I have an arranged performance for tonight. Upsiee. It's not like me to completely forget about it... Could it be?… That your visit would originally mean that I should take the time into account? Distracted in my toughs, I jumped too eagerly for the (Traveler's) attention as I was preparing for a larger audience." He looked up at the sky and his expression of understanding suggested that he was able to read something from it to that extend, that he nodded in understanding. "Um. If I hurry, I will make it without delay." Without a hesitation, he fastened the lyre to his belt and began to check his clothing as if he was preparing for a long run. "Although I would very much like to stay in this place for longer, one must remain faithful to the fulfillment of one's promises. So, without further ado, let me do one more little, breath-taking number to cap off my performance."
He spun around on his axis, striking the pose of a joker waving in greeting, playfully winking at (the Traveler). He then bent his knees to jump up, spinning around his axis again. However, instead of touchdown, the (cloak) on his back unfolded sideways into something that strongly resembled wings. An unexpected gust of wind hit the place where he only (the jump ago) had stood before, and as if he were a glider or a kite, the bard soared to the heights. Farewell was sung ("Until we meet again...") and the artist took off like a bird into the sky and into the distance.
Leaving behind the rustled leaves and grass, you followed the flier with your head up until he was out of sight. All of a sudden, the experience swept through your body, causing you to fall back onto your back, sprawling into the grass. You closed yours eyes for a moment and opened them again.
Looking at the sky partially covered by the crown of a tree, something occurred to you. Or rather, you realized something and therefore a certain question was in order: Was this experience just a dream? A dream, gifted by this tree? For (the Traveler) who stopped and stirred in its shadow? Or was it a true ballad that drifted on the wind until it reached the right ears?