Jane’s notes drift idly down through the leaves to reach the ears of fanciful listeners. They hover for a moment. He comes in to tell her. Leaving for home. Good riddance. The notes move on, livelier, and then wait. He hugs her away from the music. Hello or goodbye they wonder. We love you he says. She laughs. He sits down. The music starts again, quiet, gentle. The notes caress the flowers and the stones across the garden. They brush against the lavender and the daisies in the hand of the child and the shining hair of the woman writing.