In Beijing, on a balmy and sunny day in spring; or when the sky is rain-washed clear in summer; or when the space is a blue-green hue in autumn; or on a crisp and chilly morning in winter, one can always hear a pleasing flute-like music coming from the heavens. It may swell and shrink, may come nearer and nearer as if approaching from a distance with a crescendo, and then slowly fade away; its tempo may suddenly accelerate and as abruptly may slow down, or it may soar or level off. It is the divine music played in heaven that exhilarates the mind and delights the spirit.
This is a typical Beijing experience. Who knows how many times it rouses a person from slumber; how often it lifts a person's eyes toward the heavens; how many times it brings joy to both adults and children. When we hear this music, it restores to us a lovely memory of this ancient city. Beijing once suffered devastation, and the distant music was heard no more. The silence only evoked anger and despair The music has penetrated our lives and has become a symbol of Beijing. It has also left a deep impression on foreigners who used to reside here. An American, Mr. H.P. Hoose, wrote on this flute-like sound some fifty years ago and introduced it to the West. A person ignorant of where the sound comes from may not know that it comes from whistles attached to pigeons' tails.