As the stage was lit, the elegant and graceful cast danced and sang in front of him. Their eyes bright, and twinkling; so full of life and love for the adventures that they knew in their young hearts awaited them. They spun and clapped in time to the music that forever played for them, a soundtrack to their lives. The ‘blood of life’, which so many in the closely knit village called the ‘heart of life’ with such pride that each time it was spoken mugs of draft were slammed together followed by hardy laughter and much cheer.
Yes indeed music was what kept this place going. Surrounded by a meadow of mountains and bordered by a thick green forest to the east that crawled towards a long flowing stream that came down the mountain and eventually emptied into a fresh water lake. The little community was a postcard from a far away land that only the Pacific island of Zyrah could offer. The log houses of the village each had a small wood stove that burned long into the night, puffing smoke into the cool night, then slowly disappearing into the star-filled sky. The streets were all lit by lamplight just before the sun shone its last glimmer before retiring for the day. The boy who lit the lamps was known and loved, like a son to everyone. He laughed and smiled as the dogs playfully chased him as he went from lamp to lamp and street to street. As the day ended and welcomed the night, the children played, and with full moon nights they played a little harder and a little longer. Their parents only smiled at them in silence as the dogs barked at the moon. Perhaps the parents were in envy of the children, as they longed for their youth that had slowly slipped away from them? Or perhaps the commanding presence of the full moon brought up feelings that the old ones did not fully understand? Whatever it was full moons were always nights that were celebrated in the little logging and farming village of Houtenwoud.
The music swam throughout the village, touching people in so many ways, all throughout the year. As the beautiful women of the town danced the warm summer afternoons away, the hardworking men toiled the land and brought home the food for them and their families and all of the people of the village. But when the sun went down and the day was done, the dancing women devoted their energy to cooking for their friends and family of the village, as the talented youngsters provided the background music for them. It was quite often that the roles were turned around and the musicians cooked and the women grabbed the guitars for a twang.
A lot of the village nurtured self expression, in whatever form it took, be it cooking creative meals or reaching the high notes of a soulful ballad. A beautiful creative machine, never ending and never wanting to end. The melodies bounced off the mountains and into the sky, into the heavens. “The Gods love music children”, was one of the first things the children were taught at school. Every child in the village learned to play an instrument when they were young. A far amount of the education was based around it, along with other creative and emotional development classes. The school was somewhat split in the beginning, in the sense that a little more than half of the teachers focused on developing logic and more rigid courses, where the other tutors explored music and creativity. Music has kept this little village alive since the first house was built over four hundred years ago, but only in the last year or so has it become more a part of the education system.
Since that day all kinds of different musical instruments and types of music found its way into the village. Flutes, guitars, mandolins, drums, banjos, horns, bass, chimes, and many others with all the varied types of music that they could create. Each new instrument brought with it a different feel, a new rhythm, a new personality, adding to the harmony and life of Houtenwoud. It brought the people together and kept the village close…
