The Outdoor Concert

Unyielding and disquieting are the ways of the Coast, particularly in the manner it bestows the weather upon its residents.  Impervious to human plea or meteorological science, the Coast offers the elements as variants to its seeming immutability and to reinforce the notion that there is fickleness in all things.

And on the day of  The Outdoor Concert, the Coast demonstrated a virtuosic prowess.

It wasn’t just a rainy day, it was a day when the air itself became a river.  If one’s feet touched solid ground, it was only that gravity wished them an even more solid drenching.  The musicians, some annoyed and some bemused, arrived at the community-by-the-sea (as that’s-the-way-things-were-done) expecting an on-site cancellation.  Some musicians had entered onto stage, a portable shell sitting on the beach near the water’s edge.

The Coast began to show a distaste for a perceived imperfection of planning and the delay of the decision.  The tide, cheeky and insolent, and certainly not consulted about the concert starting time, went about redefining the water’s edge until the stage was completely surrounded a new, briny audience.

“Let’s cancel the concert,” said the Decision Maker.

“I think some of the musicians are stuck on stage,” said the Union Representative.

“No problem.  We’ll dispatch the bus to pick them up at the stage entrance.”

The bus got stuck.

“No problem.  We’ll dispatch the tow truck to free the bus and rescue the musicians.”

The tow truck got stuck.

It started to rain harder.  The sky and sea became the same colour.

The stuff of legends have it that the musicians were never rescued.  They still wait in place for the downbeat that will never occur while The Cedar Coast determines the programme.