The Singer

In the past couple of months I have heard someone singing outside my window.  She never sang more than a few lines of a song.  By the time I got to the window she had stopped singing, so I had never seen her.

Minnesota doesn't allow smoking in public buildings, including bars.  So of an evening there are often groups of people out on the sidewalk.  The bicycle shop beneath my apartment set out a wrought iron table and four chairs, and often those are filled with people, talking and laughing.

Such was the scene when I heard the singer again.  This time she sang a song all the way through.  I don't know what the song was, but it sounded like one of those lilting Celtic songs.

I was able to see her standing near the table and chairs out front.  She reminded me of the hippies from the 60's.  She wore a long full skirt, a blouse that we used to call a peasant blouse and a short embroidered vest.  Her hair reached her waist.  She had the voice of an angel.

The bar crowd, while not rowdy, can be loud.  By the second or third line of her song, the only thing I could hear was the sound of her voice.  When she finished singing the last verse, there was silence.  And then applause.

She smiled, turned and walked away.

I hope she sings again and I hope I am here to listen.