The park, Thursday

[14andseven]

Back in Toronto, Roland tended to deal with busking on cold days by positioning himself near a windbreak, bouncing up and down while playing, and wearing as many layers as he could while still being able to move and play.

Since learning he was a bard, though, he'd started to develop some new techniques.

It might seem painfully ironic from a distance to see a street musician in a corduroy jacket singing about summer in the midst of one of the harshest winters North America had seen in a long time. But get close enough, and you'll find a nice pocket of pleasantly warm air, scented with fresh cut grass and buzzing with the low hum of cicadas.

Just watch out for the wild life trying to crowd in around Roland's feet.

Comments

[voiceoverdue]

The wildlife wasn't the only thing crowding close. Cecil started to say hi because of the music, and stayed for the blessed, wonderful WARMTH. He and Foucault tried not to step on anyone else, but it was too good to pass up.

He waved gratefully and happily at Roland as he waited for the song to end.

[14andseven]

Roland kept playing the chords for the song even after he finished singing, just to maintain the little pocket of summer. "Hey, Cecil," he greeted, as he attempted to shake a chipmonk off his foot.

[voiceoverdue]

"Hi! Oh, this is so nice. Are you doing it?"

[14andseven]

"Hope so," Roland said. "Otherwise, there's possibly a volcanic vent about to open up underneath us, and I've totally lost any grasp I had on how the whole 'bard' thing works."

[voiceoverdue]

Cecil frowned. "Well, which is more likely?"

[14andseven]

"I was being sarcastic, kid," Roland assured him. "I'm doing this."

He was, like, 99% sure.

[voiceoverdue]

"Oh, good. Volcanoes are messy." Cecil rubbed his arms, still warming up. "I don't suppose you could do it for the whole island until summer?" he asked without much hope.

[14andseven]

"Not even a little," Roland said. "Sorry, kid."