“Do you think it will snow early this year?” the giant asked the fiddler.
“Can’t rightly say,” came the reply.
Dunbar had known Malik for over a hundred and fifty years. For most of it, they met and shared what was on their minds.
“Dunbar, you being so tall, you should be able to see a storm coming a mile away,” teased his friend.
“I’m not good at stuff. Unlike you, who can make beautiful music, I have no skill except for my knack for stepping on things,” the giant said.
Malik played a tune to lighten the mood, and soon Dunbar was tapping his fingers and whistling away.
“That’s a fine whistle you got there,” Malik told the giant.
“Ain’t nothing special. I learned it from my pappy. He told me that when you’re feeling something that words don’t fit, best to let a tune say it instead,” said Dunbar.
“Wise words, I best be getting home, or the wife will think I’m out for a drink of hooch,” Malik said with a wry smile.
“Thank you for the lovely music. Next time I’ll try to whistle along if that’s alright with you?” Dunbar said.
“That would be mighty nice,” said the fiddler.
As Malik made his way home, he could hear the giant’s powerful whistle drift across the land.
“Mighty nice indeed,” said the man.
Folksburywoods 
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