This morning on our drive to office we were listening to western classical music on the SWR2 radio channel. It was drizzling outside, and the soft, rhythmic dribble of raindrops on the windows infused a mellow fuzziness into the music and the scenery around.
As we turned into the parking garage, a new piece began – one we recognized but could not place precisely. The best pieces always begin just at the end of our drives, my wife and I told each other. I parked, stopped the engine, but left the radio on. We didn’t feel like leaving. The clear, striking notes of the piano filled the surroundings – now dark and silent – with an enchantment that was impossible to let go off.
We sat where we were, immersed in melody and darkness.
Two cars away there was a man sitting, like us, staring into the void. We were not alone in this concert hall, and that brought a smile to our faces. When the piece ended, we got out and so did he. Our eyes met, he smiled and nodded; I nodded back. It was a moment of communion – indescribable and rare.