The notes float over the placid waters and settle gently into the soft darkness around our camp. We’re relaxing by the fire after a day’s row on the Penobscot.
He pauses for a breath and then continues Mozart’s Horn Concerto # 3, fingering the keys with great familiarity. One by one the notes build to a crescendo and then fade one by one until silence slips in around us.
Is there anything better than an evening on Chesuncook Lake listening to a Mozart horn concerto?
Years later, I wondered how many people that summer, sleeping in their cabins on the shores of Chesuncook Lake, a remote lake in northern Maine, had heard his impromptu concert.
How many dreams stirred as his music floated through the night air?