I was walking through the depths of the Paris Underground, and passed a violinist. She plays at the junction of the bisecting worlds of the 1 and 9.
I have stopped to listen before. I always enjoy being a patron of the arts, no matter how modest my philanthropic contribution can be.
Today, I had arrived as the violinist was playing Ave Maria. One of my favorites. I can remember giving koruna to a Czech woman singing it in the gently Prague snowfall.
I stopped to listen. Because I always do. Because I will always take the time to listen. Because I dare not miss something special (Belle Bell). This was something special.
Ave Maria—filling the tubular halls and bouncing off the rounded concert hall of the subway’s tile walls.
The joyous, slow pull of the bow on that Schubert classic.
I stayed, tilting on tiles, soaking in the dulcet song.
My concert ended, as all good things must. I left a 2 euro coin as thanks for my own private Ave Maria.