Friday, January 25, 2008
I was on my day off from missionary work in England back in 1995. We were walking into town, where the main street of shops were. I heard beautiful pipes being played and it was getting louder as we approached town center. It echoed off the buildings, filtered through the ally ways and had such tone that I thought they must have been golden pipes. It ended up being a busker (musician playing for change) in jeans and a t-shirt. I tossed in some change and he gave me a smile as he continued to play. I listened for the next few minutes as we went about our business and have never forgot those pipes of gold. Thus went the Skirl (sounds from the pipes).