music in the rain

I was in the suburb of my childhood, staying in the house of a friend. The garden sloped away from the house, merging with a park. In the early morning I went outside in the rain to brush my teeth at the tap. The man next door was in his garden, eyes closed, playing a violin. I leaned into a shrub, hoping to remain unseen, so as to listen. I could only just hear the beautiful music over the rain and I realised this was why he was out here: playing his violin, the sound masked by rainfall, so as not to disturb his wife or the neighbours. I felt both joy and sadness, witnessing an old man delight in his passion, but having to be so discreet.