The late afternoon Maine sun was warm, with a hint of the cool evening air that would soon follow. Returning from my walk along Long Pond, I heard swimmers splashing in the water below, as I kept my eyes peeled on the narrow lakeside path to avoid jutting rocks. When another hiker came toward me, I stepped aside to let him pass and looked up to see a young man carrying what looked like a musical instrument case. I gave him a questioning glance, and he stopped.
“A guitar?” I asked.
“It’s an oud,” he said in a quiet voice that seemed to flow into the breeze. “It’s an ancient instrument.”
I twisted my head to look at the case more clearly, and the young man with a blond ponytail nodded, carefully placing the case on the ground. As gently as he’d pick up a baby, he removed an amber, wooden, pear-shaped instrument and held it like a guitar. Strumming several discordant chords, he then plucked a melody whose magic could have coaxed a genie out of a bottle.
I heard myself sigh at the sounds that began reaching deep inside of me. “Where are you going with your oud?”
With his head, he gestured to the path behind me and lifted his eyes to the rocks above. “Come join me sometime. I’m usually there about now, if it’s not raining.”
I nodded, he packed up his instrument, and we...
Subscribe now to keep reading
Please enter your email to log in or create a new account.