It rained earlier that morning, and I was concerned that another sudden downpour would be bad for the instrument.
He must have rolled it there on those wheels, but how far?
There was a peregrine falcon moving from tree to tree overhead, a large female I think, a remarkable creature.
The pianist was hawking his CDs, and had five gallon plastic buckets for donations. We sat and listened for a while with a small, appreciative crowd, while others in the park followed the flapping shadow through the trees.
Plastic buckets, a backpack, a man walking past in pajama pants, a baby grand piano in the park. It all seemed to fit together somehow, and to ask about any of it seemed unnecessary.