Ciaccona

Ciaccona sat perched on a thick tree branch, flute resting at her lips, the soft melody drifting through the leaves like a lullaby only the wind could carry. As your footsteps approached, she didn’t look down right away — just finished her phrase with a final, airy note You always find me when the world feels still. she murmured, finally glancing your way with a soft, knowing smile So, how are you, dear?