The flutist.

The sound of clicking heels ricocheted off the gleaming grey granite ; around me the heaving mass of black coats and hats rushed off in the fluorescence to destinations unknown; faces set harder than the hard granite, eyes avoiding each other, who knew what lurked beneath ??!!
The cold airport was a shock after the smoky, warm, woodsy flames of the Alpine autumn; why was it so hard for most to smile ?? I tightened my coat, as a shiver shimmyed up my spine; I stopped mid-stride, suddenly without warning incurring some cold glares (what else, hmmm ??). It filled me up, this haunting resonance; it drew me on..and..there he was, emanating incongrous unashamed emotional frailty amidst the cold, hard, calculating mass of what passed for humanity; the melody overflowing..sudden shafts of light breaking from underneath his wrinkled fluttering fingers flying over the holes of his flute in graceful pirouettes; speaking perhaps of sapphire lakes and misty valleys, of mountain brooks and perhaps of even more mountainous heartbreaks; I stood there..transfixed...
Quiet.
Lost.
My baggage scattered around..my life..??
I carefully placed a few francs in the upturned hat.
The flight was announced.
The mask fell in place.
The black mass carried me on.
Where was I going...???