The morning was calm and peaceful as usual. Natalya and I were having a traditional Russian tea with toasts and a black-currant jam. Jean-Yves Thibaudet has almost finished the last melancholic touch of Satie's Gymnopedie No.1, when Natalya and I jumped from our chairs, looking at each other with fear in our eyes: something hit really hard on the window right next to us. The crystal fragility of Saturday morning was hopelessly broken. We rushed outside to see what could it be and saw a beautiful robin lying on the ground next to the window. One would think it was asleep, if not for a drop of blood in the corner of its beak.
There was no orchestra, but Natalya and I managed to hum a few phrases from Gymnopedie No.1 over a tiny grave in our garden.
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