Concert for One

Slowly making my way down the narrow, busted sidewalk, I hear the sharp trill of music in the distance. Looking up, I see a blonde boy perched in a doorway, sitting on stone steps that, at one time, were slathered with a coating of blue paint. Years of weather abuse and traffic had eroded most of the paint, though some splotches remained. Enchanted by the sight of the youth in the doorway, I stopped walking and leaned against the brick wall several yards away from where he sat. The boy had one knee propped on the top step, his slender arms rested against his shin. His jeans, rolled up to the knee, revealed muddy legs and bare feet. His hair, dirty and damp, was alternately matted down and standing all askew. His plump cheeks, scrubbed with dirt, puffed out as he blew with all his might into the wooden flute his childish fingers held between clamped lips. On the ground adjacent the brittle stone steps sat a tiny black-haired kitten, perfectly still, enraptured by the boy as he performed his concert for one.