Earlier, in a rain-drenched and chilly New York, I got lost in the creative strumming of a Japanese guitarist at West 4th station. I don't know why I easily fall victim to wonderful and romantic tunes. I was enraptured…I was in a standstill. People were rushing as usual, oblivious of my languid state. As the melodies of Fly Me to the Moon, Moonriver and What a Wonderful World filled the entire station with wonderful music, I didn't notice that I missed two trains. I didn't care...I just had to savor every tune and feeling evoked by the songs.
I fished in my pocket and gave Kishi, that's the artist's name, my last cash for the day. It could have been a good drink at a bar that can fill me with intoxicating gladness, yet I know deep inside that I wouldn't be needing anything else now but this wonderful feeling of elation. So I left smiling and glad to have fed my heart to the brim—again.
In the City where open fields of flowers are hard to come by, the closest thing I can do in substitute to 'stopping to smell the flowers' is this...appreciating pockets of beauty anywhere as it presents itself, may it be in a grimy and old subway stop in downtown Manhattan.