I strolled, unseen, along the great sloping Robinson lawn. People wouldn’t arrive for an hour or so, but there was that pre-concert excitement in the air. I came up the steeper part of the hill & noticed a dimly shimmering figure of a man sitting on the terrace steps, gazing at the lake.
“Oh,” he said, mildly surprised. “I didn’t know I had company.” He smiled.
“As am I, Dr. Robinson,” I replied. “I loved the concerts, so I always come to them.”
“Ah, yes,” he sighed. “As do I.”
“It’s been such a joy to hear beautiful music right here in our little town.” He nodded, the fatherly smile warming the edges of his lips.
“Where’s your favorite spot?” he asked after a silence.
I thought about this. “Usually we’d sit right here by the stairs,” I pointed, “but now I’ve loved sitting in the middle of the action.”
Dr. Robinson leaned back, his great booming laughter echoing off the trees. “Ah, what a spot!” he cried. “I, however, am not as youthful as you, so I prefer that corner of the porch over there.”