I ply my craft in the Great Southwestern Desert,as my Little Brother says "midway between sunrise over the haunted Superstition Mnts. and sunset over the desolate White Tank range. For the less poetic that would be Phoenix, Arizona. Ah, but where do I live? High on the Colorado Plateau. Deep with in an ancient forest that turned to stone millions of years ago!
I play bagpipes. Perhaps some still, starry, desert evening you've heard my piping on the soft, warm night air of the vast desert?
You'll know it's me, by the sparing use of ornamentation. I just refuse to guild the lilly. But that's OK! You see, the secret to piping is to play for yourself. If you're having fun, those around you will too. As long as the drones and chanter fill your heart and the hearts of those around you with mirth and joy, the ruckus you raise will be your own reward! Believe me when I tell you that nothing can raise a ruckus like a stand of bagpipes. No wonder the Saxons declared them an "instrument of war"!
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