When I'm on my way to the gym on a Thursday evening, after working for twelve hours. After schlepping from one job to the other. From brewing coffee and serving espresso drinks to brewing coffee and serving espresso drinks somewhere else.
After all that.
It finds me.
Somewhere before North Avenue. Outside a church on St Paul.
It finds me.
Five people. Three sit. Two stand. Three violins. One banjo. One acoustic guitar. They're playing folk music. The kind that makes you want to strip off your shoes and go dance in the grass with a friend. They're playing it and I can feel nothing but happiness.
With each step of my feet I feel buoyant. A rhythmical bliss. A sense of belonging. As if these five people gathered on the steps of this church to play music for me. To wait and wait until I decided I'd like to walk to the gym on this Thursday evening. To select the songs according to my mood and my spirits and play them as I pass by.
Yes. There is that beauty. Even if I've fooled myself into feeling it.
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