One late afternoon last weekend, I went for a short, meandering walk through the neighbourhood before the sun quietly tucked below the horizon tugging along with it the light of day. Nearing a few blocks before my home, I heard the sweet sound of a wind instrument floating though the air. The source was a man standing on top of a very tall pile of snow playing a cheerful tune on what appeared to be a penny whistle or a recorder while children tobogganed down around him. The backdrop was a gray day and a rather unloved looking municipal lot. It has a large grass field (now covered with snow) and a gravel track that used to be used for horse-racing several years ago. Though somewhat unkempt in appearance, the space is frequented by many including myself to play, run, cross-country ski, take in the sunset, or walk with the dogs.
I wished that afternoon to give this person a thumb’s up, the musical magic maker, to thank him. The music was refreshing, nourishing, beautiful. Shyness took over and I regret that I didn’t say thanks. I wished that the music would go on for a long, long time and that this would be a more frequent site, that people would bring their instruments out into the streets more often and play, offering solace and beauty, celebrating creativity and life. I wished I had the courage to do this more myself.
I would like to say if you are one of the people in your neighbourhood who plays the penny whistle outside, or the guitar, some drums, or the enchanting french horn, thank you so much. Please keep playing. Your offering is a gift.
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