There couldn't have been a duller start to the afternoon for me.
The skies were grey, the trees were beginning to go bare and I was just beginning an hour and a half round trip to school just to hand in an assignment.
If the people of the street could read my mind, all they would have seen was the word BLAH in caps and 72 size, Times New Roman font.
But suddenly the air was full of rhythm and movement, vivid colours and dreams and passion. It was full of something that blasted away the greyness, defied the blah, attached itself to everyone who walked by and, I'm certain, strolled along with them all say. Even if all those business people and mall shoppers tried to look too busy or too cool, I could them glance at the source of the music, a man playing the saxophone, and smile somewhere deep inside. And so did I.
Street musicians are willing to go out and liven everyone's day, put a little tune in their heads and a jump in their step, without a promise of any sort of return, not a Loonie or a quarter or even a nod from some people. They do it anyways, because the music is just as important as or greater than the desire to be recognized. Doing what makes them happy is payment enough sometimes.
So I am grateful for musicians who bring their talents to the spots outside the mall or the bus stops or crowded city corners. I am grateful for the inspiration and joy for life they give me. I am grateful for the pride they give me in the city where I live and the world I inhabit, because if there are people here that make people happy doing what they love without asking for anything in return, than we're definitely better off than some people think.
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