Dawn Duo

Strauss's "Dawn" unveils ethereal beauty; music fades to absurd command.

I walked hunched over, carrying my thoughts like wet stones in my chest. The grove at the edge of the city took me in without questions; damp earth yielding softly underfoot, unjudging shade, air that promised nothing but soothed for that reason. “Monday again tomorrow,” I muttered. The words tasted of rust.

Then the music came. Strauss! "Dawn"; clear as a blade, cutting the silence into fine strips. It arose from nowhere and filled everything. I stopped; even my breath stalled.

Then I saw them.

Two figures, naked, not obscene; stripped of all excess, even shame. Their skin caught the light, pale and unreal. They passed beside me with the composure of beings who need no witness. They did not look at me or acknowledge me. For a moment I wanted to applaud, to laugh, to say something foolish just to prove I existed. I did nothing.

They passed.

The music lingered as their bodies thinned, blurred, then dissolved into the winding path, as if the landscape had reclaimed what it once lent. The light sharpened. The air grew ordinary again.

I raised my head. The grove was a grove again. No musical duo, no presence. Only me and the old, familiar fatigue.

Then I heard it, clear and dry, like an order rising from within me, beyond appeal:

“Tomorrow you ought to get back to work.”

And suddenly, that seemed the most absurd thing of all.