Hiiliä

A wandering minstrel carries his battered flute like a fragile companion, playing the music of his own memory across lonely roads and empty villages. He recalls sun‑lit riverbanks, secret groves of oak, and the sweet rustle of reeds that once inspired his melodies. Through his reverent monologue the listener feels the deep bond between player and instrument—a friendship tested by hunger, ridicule, and the harshness of the world, yet never wholly broken.

As night falls, the story shifts to a quiet rural homestead where two elders sit on their porch, eyes lifted toward a sky ablaze with fading stars. Their simple question about the stars hints at lingering hopes and the quiet yearning that connects generations. The opening paints a vivid portrait of wandering solitude and humble reflection, inviting listeners to hear the poet’s yearning for beauty amid a rough, unkind landscape.