It's One O'Clock on a Sunday
On Sunday, after church, I was on a single-minded mission to get me a cup of Think coffee.
But as I walked up West 4th Street, I heard the sounds of a piano coming from Washington Square Park. I detoured north (caffeine could wait a minute) and entered the park (still covered in snow) and followed the notes until they became a recognizeable song (a Chopin nocturne).
And then I saw the source: the piano man (again), pounding the keys with enviable skill, turning the grey skies and white ground a little more colorful.
And then I fell in love.
Not with the dude, but with the moment.
I was definitely in love with that moment.