Pan Pipes Linger
The music of the mournful pan pipes on the radio early this morning made me think of him. I had heard that he had died. Full of smiles, welcomes, hugs and names remembered. He was always at the Farmers' Market in Waterloo on Saturdays.
Our kids used to stop, listen, smile and wonder. At this beautiful man and at the two violinists, conservatory trained in eastern Europe who were further down the way. Crowds often wandered by stuffing their faces with sausages. But this fellow was arresting; his music other-worldly; his CD's always available.
Fernand is missed. His grace unique and loving.