Music spreads inexorably through the essence of your being. It is like the myriad of reflections dancing in the water of a rustling brook ultimately destined to reach the vastness of the ocean, where the sun seems to shine even brighter in the cloudless sky, the waves traveling miles and miles finally to crash and explode against a cliff, its foam dispersing in a fine, diaphanous mist of billions of microscopic droplets, gently wetting the observer who does not see it coming. Shivers run through him, yet he is warm under the summer sun. He closes his eyes. A smile is drawn by his lips. He his head is drooping, and tears are trickling down his cheeks.
Somewhere else at the same moment, after the last few bars, a cellist has put down his bow, and the pianist has released his hands from the keyboard.
Such is the power of music.
(Montreal, November 2001)