was made?” “Oh, I am afraid the answer is no to both of your questions,” came back the melodic answer on the wind. It's not for me to play, it was not made for me, but it is a joy to hold and absorb a little of its possibilities. I cannot take you to Magentaria. It only exists in fairy tales though it is also everywhere around us and nowhere at all. You cannot possibly find Magentaria but if you are very lucky it may one day find you. I can’t show you the way, but my dear friend may be able to help.” Her voice began to trail off till the flutemaker was not sure what were her words and what was the wind and birds in the trees. Her outline also seemed to become more blurred with the background. ‘Great, finally meet someone who believes in Magentaria and she sounds even more crazy than me' was the flutemaker’s final thought as he lay back down and drifted off into another long sleep. He slept fitfully through the rest of the afternoon and night and awoke at first light. He lay on his back with his eyes closed and allowed the dawn chorus to wash over him. Sometimes he loved to start the day this way. Quietly lying there listening before all those ‘important’ thoughts vied for the mental space. This particular morning the symphony consisted of many soft small bird noises, occasionally interspersed with the sharp crack of a coach whip bird or the staccato call of a Lewins honeyeater. Sometimes all of it was overridden by the outrageous laugh from a kookaburra. He relaxed deeply as he received the little gift from the bird world before slowly opening his eyes to start his day. His pack was where he had left it, not far from his head but the Magentarian flute lay on a rock a little further away. On the end of the
was made?” “Oh, I am afraid the answer is no to both of your questions,” came back the melodic answer on the wind. It's not for me to play, it was not made for me, but it is a joy to hold and absorb a little of its possibilities. I cannot take you to Magentaria. It only exists in fairy tales though it is also everywhere around us and nowhere at all. You cannot possibly find Magentaria but if you are very lucky it may one day find you. I can’t show you the way, but my dear friend may be able to help.” Her voice began to trail off till the flutemaker was not sure what were her words and what was the wind and birds in the trees. Her outline also seemed to become more blurred with the background. ‘Great, finally meet someone who believes in Magentaria and she sounds even more crazy than me' was the flutemaker’s final thought as he lay back down and drifted off into another long sleep. He slept fitfully through the rest of the afternoon and night and awoke at first light. He lay on his back with his eyes closed and allowed the dawn chorus to wash over him. Sometimes he loved to start the day this way. Quietly lying there listening before all those ‘important’ thoughts vied for the mental space. This particular morning the symphony consisted of many soft small bird noises, occasionally interspersed with the sharp crack of a coach whip bird or the staccato call of a Lewins honeyeater. Sometimes all of it was overridden by the outrageous laugh from a kookaburra. He relaxed deeply as he received the little gift from the bird world before slowly opening his eyes to start his day. His pack was where he had left it, not far from his head but the Magentarian flute lay on a rock a little further away. On the end of the