Gypsies at Secret Lake

He walked past them slowly, since he didn't want to remain in any one area too long. He felt out of place and didn't want to arouse their suspicion. He came upon a group of four violin players. Their instruments blended perfectly as each played different counterparts of an ever-changing melody. He was amazed at how they could intertwine and intersect with each other.

Their ingenious harmonic tones were fully utilized by a thin, wiry man who danced in the dirt. He exhibited a frenzy of wild stomping, jumping, leaping and whirling. He had a flashing, mercurial quality about his every move. His facial contortions went through a myriad of expressions and his eyes flashed like a wild animal as his bare feet stirred up a whirling cloud of dust.

Something about his movements reminded Harry of his own furious gyrations that he had performed when his grandmother played her lyre. He had not thought of it in years and had never considered it to be dancing, he was just reacting to his Gram's moving melodies. She had always praised him, but he had never taken it seriously. Now, he began to wonder if it had been his gypsy blood rising to meet the gypsiness in her music.