I love the sound of the cello. Actually, it is more than that. I love to watch a cellist play. The cello embraced between the legs, the bow drawing back and forth. The mournfulness of the notes. The expression of the cellist, so completely bound up in the music. The cello and cellist are one.
The other day, on Granville Island, just before the market closed, from the food court I bought a hasty dinner. I sat down feeling rushed, knowing I had only a few moments to eat.
But then, a few tables across from me, a cellist began to play. His eyes closed. His bow moved back and forth. The notes perfect, landing somewhere in my stomach, reverberating through my body. I was lulled into stillness.
As I listened, I noticed an old security guard inch up to the counter just beyond where I was sitting, the perfect spot to receive those magical notes. He lay his head down on his arms and memories flicked across his brow. He, like me, was lost in the music, lost in time.
Thank-you for your music and our moment.