We Don’t Choose
We don’t choose what is going to wake us up.
It chooses us.
Today, I rolled downtown under our impossibly blue sky
And heard a violinist.
Young and scrappy, he stood there and played.
I noticed the maturity of his soundings as I approached; I smiled as I slowed and passed.
A half block away as tears wet my cheeks
I turned around and went back to him.
What and mostly how he played broke my heart open and I wanted him to know.
I dropped in a 5 dollar bill.
He bowed and I left.
I was different. He was different.
He played scorchingly and brilliantly as I crossed the street; almost like a lover’s call.
Before my health challenges I likely would have heard him as back round noise; sweet but pass-by-able.
Today my ears were honed for devotion-worthy instances.
And it isn’t even Sunday.