40th of Spring, 508AV: The Silent Garden
It was just that kind of day. The sky had all the hopeful blue of a robin's egg with hardly a cloud to mask it, and a light breeze sprung up to soothe the heat of of the beaming sun. Every inch of The Silent Garden was still touched with the tears of Spring, encouraging small sprouts of caplium and stint green to peek up from the grassy knolls. Light laughter danced amid the tinkling ripple of ponds and ringing bird chatter as young Konti played and their elders watched from the comfort of bright blankets. In all that place, the only sadness came from realizing the perfect moment wouldn't last.
The sky was burning with color, vibrant yellows, oranges, and reds declaring the exit of Syna. Slowly, the world was quieting down, each festive blossom bathed in gold before they would fade in the night.. Even the park, bathed already in perfect natural beauty, had been decorated for the day's festivities, sporting garlands of plumeria along its bridge and poles wound with blossoms and ribbons about its paths. After all, what better time was there to celebrate the beauty of the island than the Flower Festival?
Suddenly, there was was the strumming of a lyre. It came from the west side of the park, soon accompanied by the sound of a flute. Wind and string intertwined for a moment, and then there was the beating of a drum and the rattling of a tambourine. Heads turned, swans fluttered, and the sound only grew. A sonorous violin piped up, its sister, the viola, singing right along with it. The piercing penny whistle, a plucking zither, and finally, a lute joined the mix. By now, even artists engrossed in capturing the beauty of the park were looking about, standing up from their various perches to locate the source of the music.
”When the world was broken
When the word was new
There was a seed called Tivaku
She burst and she bloomed
A rainbow in the night
And everywhere she touched
Green grew upon all blight”
When the word was new
There was a seed called Tivaku
She burst and she bloomed
A rainbow in the night
And everywhere she touched
Green grew upon all blight”
A group of Konti with an entourage of lantern bearers and curious onlookers sang as they paraded down one of the pebbled paths, their voices rising like a soft mist from the sea. The musicians were dressed exquisitely for the occasion, sporting long, dragging silks that changed from one pastel hue to the next like a patch of multicolored pansies. Skipping among them was Melenna, the culprit with the ivory toned lute. Her fingers were light on the instrument as she took the lead of the singers and strode at the front of the group.
“The new and timid bud is Thine
Soft and precious as a kiss
Hearts and flesh come back to life
Trembling like butterfly wings
At Thy feet all good things stir
Weakening winter's bitter cur
Linger with us yet dear Tivaku
All our flowers sprout to greet Thee
Bright parades with every hue
Follow Thy sweet trail of dew
Come we too and offer thanks
For life that overflows our banks”
Soft and precious as a kiss
Hearts and flesh come back to life
Trembling like butterfly wings
At Thy feet all good things stir
Weakening winter's bitter cur
Linger with us yet dear Tivaku
All our flowers sprout to greet Thee
Bright parades with every hue
Follow Thy sweet trail of dew
Come we too and offer thanks
For life that overflows our banks”
By the time the song was finished, the Konti musicians had finally taken rest atop one of the hills with a Vian tree, allowing the rest of the park to catch up with them. People gathered around as the lantern bearers scrambled gracefully about, helping one another carefully fix their lights upon the trees. Each lantern was formed of glass and shaped like an open lily, glowing with light pinks, yellows, and blues from the small fire within. These were hung alongside the Vian tree's white blossoms, turning both flower and light bark a dozen different shades of spring hues.
As fireflies danced near the water at the hill's base and Konti settled their blankets down in a better spot for a proper view of the festivity, Melenna opened up her arms to greet them. Her fellow musicians bowed, dipping like the heads of bluebells against the ground.
“My sisters, friends, neighbors, and travelers near and far—I welcome you to our final hurrah before this day of new joy ends.” Melenna spoke in a seamlessly musical tone, exploiting the elegant language of her people to play on its graceful sounds. “Enjoy good company, sing along, or listen from afar to be privy to music's inspiration. Tonight we play for you, Tivaku, and all the lovely life that inhabits our fair isle.”
