On Halloween Sunday, I sit outside the cashier’s window at the General Store in Saxapahaw, close enough to hear the chirping of the register and the crackling of sauces on the stove top and the clinking of forks on plates.
A breeze tickles the remaining tree leaves and threatens to scatter the sheet music as Lisa and Gordon play Satie and Brahms and Debussy for fiddle and piano on the patio that overlooks the fuel pumps. Their music is punctuated and occasionally overshadowed by motorists rumbling over to fill up–and between pieces, the bluegrassy guitar folk playing inside sneaks out of the store through the window screen.
My six-week-old daughter, snug in her wrap on my chest, issues soft murmurs as she sleeps, and next to me folks chat around the tables, now and then showing gladness for a good meal.
Friends arrive for lunch, and I move to their table, sharing kind words with strangers and long-established acquaintances on my way. I sit and chat as Gordon finishes his set with a sweetly melancholic fiddle tune.
Under these audible tones of the afternoon, I perceive notes only the soul’s ear can hear; this is the soul of a village, quietly telling its story.

-cameron

Related posts:

1. Date Night in Saxy Last week I was busy baking cupcakes when Arwen, one...
2. Five star gas station Yesterday as I was preparing the glace for the beef...
3. and the village was quiet Saxapahaw has developed a certain kind of double life since...