Lake Lewisia #382

[scrubjayspeaks]

High on the hillside, up past where the trees could block the rush of wind coming in from the distant coast, they began to assemble lengths of pipe and timber. The individual pipes had already been tuned, but hoisting them into their new rack took help and a long afternoon of shouting over the wind and the sudden blurts of music whenever a pipe tipped just the right way. By dusk, though, the wind flute had taken shape and begun to whistle out its strange, organic music across the valley below.

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LL#382