Rush hour in the city. A young boy raises a violin to his chin, and says, I’m sorry to bother you all but I just want to play a song. His apology saddens me – as if the gift of music was something to be forgiven.

He pauses, checks his microphone, and smiles to his parents holding a camera. Then he plays the first stroke and something shifts in the air. The man beside me has put down his phone, the baby has stopped crying, the birds stop their singing. His tune penetrates our skin, reminding us that there is beauty around us. We notice the magic.

As he finishes, the universe holds it breath, letting the music seep into the corners of the Earth. He lingers on the last note, sweat pouring down his face, then lowers his instrument and smiles, not knowing the cosmic shift his performance had created, and then the world speeds up and resumes its pace.