MORNINGS THAT MAKE MUSIC

Manawatu Times, Volume LIV, Issue 6803, 5 January 1929, Page 15

MORNINGS THAT MAKE MUSIC

There are some mornings that demand music, and if there, be no birds to shout from the housetops, and the Stars have faded into the sunlight, then something, must be done about it. It is not enough to make rhythmical [sounds with your boots on the damp--1 clear pavements, for the painted leaves 'thatching there muffle the beats and 'break the metre. Even the roadway is clothed in leaves, and the rattle of the passing cart can only be heard spasmodically. The trees are the trouble. It is impossible to look up the dark slim trunks, past the jointed branches, to the twigs at the very top—each surmounted by a dab of glittering, golden leaf, flip-flapping against the marvelous air of late summer —without feeling an urge to sing a mighty song. And do they ever sing, tho concert makers of the world, when alone with a morning of intense light} Or is the accompaniment of tho little wind inadequate? And what of those who cannot sing? What must they do? At the corner of the ,road is tho bakery. The bread comes into the shop from the flour-covered ovens at tho rear, a streaming trail of delicious scent, a crisply-crackling of crust as the loaves jostle one another into the baskets. The baker superintends operations personally, standing on tho pavement, bareheaded save for the flour that covers his hair. But ho is too intent upon getting out his customers’ orders to notice the morning. Into the cart they go—cottage loaves, tin loaves, oven bottoms; and a few Sally-lunns, Coburgs, Welsh bake-stones, and baps. It is a dear little cart, scarlet painted, and immaculately clean. The baker’s boy.; pulls bis cap. over his eyes, lifts the handles and stops off briskly, the rod paint moving down tho wet road like a splodge, of ’ sealing-wax dripping, heavily into the pudcllos.v . And then, ; swinging along between the trees, he takes.a mouth organ from his pocket, and pushing .the cart with one hand plays with tho other. And the golden leaves on the topmost twigs cease their flip-flapping for a moment to listen.

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