Her hazel eyes glistened like sunlight shimmering on a beached conch-shell. She gazed in a reverent way so as not to disturb him in his careful work. His fingers wound round about the long silver instrument, and then with all eloquence imaginable for a man of his stature, he hung the most beautiful notes of melody upon the chilly autumn air. The music danced just as crisply as the burnt orange leaves which could barely hang on to the maple's swaying hands. Then, the wizened old willow breathed in the song, and returned it with graceful movements through it's billowing tresses; keeping time with the baker's nimble fingers.
(Sorry for the tease, I should really at least finish the scene, but I haven't the time...I'll get back to it if it's requested, how about that?) :)
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