A violin plays down the valley. It comes from a small white house. First, I hear “Sunrise, Sunset.” Then, I hear “The Moon Represents My Heart.” A parallel world comes to mind. Perhaps a cultural event at the Israeli consulate in Taipei? Or how about something more distant, like Russian Jews escaped to Taiwan. That never happened. And the village of Anatevka was shot in what is now Croatia. I looked it up once. The houses in the photographs from then are all wooden and their window boxes overflow with red nasturtiums.
The violinist changes to a song I don’t recognize.
The small white house is made of stone and looks like a snowball holding itself together at the top of the valley, defying the climate. Everything is green still. But now that winter is truly here, the air conditioners have all gone quiet and now there is room for violin in the air.