4:11 p.m.
Wednesday, an ordinary middle-of-the-week
Hump day, late afternoon, run-of-the-mill
Nothing happening type time really
But then, the big-hand on the wall clock
of the hospital’s open-air eating area
clicks from the ten to the eleven
And my no-nonsense steps,
The brisk walk of a person eager
To depart the hospital is halted
Pretty much mid-stride
My senses, my aural senses
Are assaulted by a symphony
Of sound, so authentic, so rich and fine
I begin searching the enormous space
That makes up this open concept
Hospital for the philharmonic
Convinced I will see them
Seated on one of the four
Visible levels
I do not
But the music plays on;
I finally grab a chair at the nearest table
As much under the “sweet” spot
As possible – casting around wildly
Is it just me?
No—I begin to notice others
Stopping, searching —smiling, bemusedly...
Oh, now, this tears it—
A pause in the playing
And there is applause
And cheers of “Bravo”
Where are they, I wonder?
Then, as they strike up
Beethoven’s Pathetique
And I am lost in the music
Does it really matter?
Do I need to see them to
Enjoy this?
Perhaps not...
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