A Summer Evening and the Echo of a Violin
It was one of those late summer afternoons when time seems to slow down, and the sky—stained amber and purple—announces a beauty that defies explanation and can only be felt. Sitting on the porch, wrapped in the warm stillness of dusk, I began to hear, in the distance, the sound of a violin. But it wasn’t just any sound: it held an ancient melancholy, as if the day itself were playing a gentle farewell to its own passing. The notes floated over the rooftops with an almost magical lightness, intertwining with the chirping of crickets—the soundtrack of summer nights—and the soft whisper of the breeze. Everything fit together: sound and silence, warmth and nostalgia, solitude and the presence of something greater. There was an invisible harmony in the air. A subtle balance. A sense that, even if just for a moment, everything might make sense. I was reminded of the film Fiddler on the Roof and its description: “A universal story of hope, love, and acceptance.” Words that grow deeper as...