There was a difficult day. Everyone has them. 'Seems the gauntlet was thrown down as my eyes opened in the morning. Nothing was working. My ideas, goals seemed ridiculous and the world, well, I just couldn't figure it out. There was no point, it seemed. I was not making the headway I wanted. And outside, the air was cutting cold, thrown carelessly by the wind, and armed with stinging, sharp snow. In a fit, I shrugged off my useless efforts and left them in a sullen heap on the floor. I put on my jacket and headed out through the storm and to a movie. The theatre is a bit of a walk from where I live so the storm had ample time to make me uncomfortable, that is until I got to Philosopher's Walk, a thin, forested park set low behind UofT's Faculty of Law, Faculty of Music, and the ROM. Because it is low, and sheltered, the wind was blowing over top and dropping the snow gently, instead of bludgeoning it as it seemed to be doing everywhere else. It appeared a scene from Narnia, or some special place with rich, thick duvets of granitic, sparkling white laid everywhere. It was beautiful and I was thankful for the respite from the wind. I could hear my own breath, the crunch of snow under my feet, and then- then I heard the silkiest sound coming from a trumpet somewhere in the music building. Someone was playing Mussorgsky's "Pictures at an Exhibition: Promenade." I stopped. It was so beautiful. So lovely, as if they were playing it just for me, to draw me out of my difficult day. As if someone said,
"Here she comes! Play it now! Remind her that there is, most definitely a point!"
It was as if God was just checkin' in to sort me out. Whatever it was, there was most certainly a magic to it. I may never forget it.