A Sunday Song

The thing about late, eventful Saturday nights is they are always followed by peaceful Sunday mornings. Some might say I'm cursed, but I think I'm lucky to be unable to sleep past 10 a.m. most days. The world, or this campus at least, is dead, as students hide from sunlight and noise their heads are not yet ready for. One of the few brave souls to wake up and walk across campus for food, I was calmed by the serenity of a campus of over 1200 in silence. I had nearly reached my destination when a loud, startling sound pierced through the still air. Bagpipes, playing cadence to arms for a dead, unresponsive audience. I desperately wanted to know where they were coming from, so I walked briskly in that direction. Slightly straying from my path, I didn't quite mind wandering to the fountain, where a young man was standing alone, playing music for his fellow early risers. I stood and watched the water in the fountain a minute, taking in that music I've come to appreciate so much, enjoying the bright morning sun despite my own grogginess and hunger. I left and continued to breakfast, reassured that while my world and life had changed, things from my past would always seek me out at moments I need it most.