This past weekend was the first gloriously warm weekend of spring, and we decided to celebrate by taking a family walk along the Boardwalk in Toronto's Beach neighborhood.
This stretch of sand and sky is one of the prettiest places in Toronto. Couples walk arm in arm, toddlers wobble along adorably, dogs and joggers run in rhythm...and the big city seems miles away. With the setting sun casting a pink glow on everything, the scene couldn't be more idyllic. But then the unmistakable melody of "What A Wonderful World" wafts over everything from the strings of a sweet old Gibson, and we're truly in heaven.
Now that's a busker.
After making a contribution, Dave and I talked about why the music "worked". We agreed that in addition to being an excellent player, the guitarist seemed to fit his environment. He and his music just seemed to belong there. He didn't seem at all out-of-place or superfluous. His choice to play there made sense. Not surprisingly, he seemed happy and completely comfortable. As I passed his guitar case, I was admittedly curious about "how he was doing"--and to my surprise his case wasn't overflowing with toonies. He was doing fine enough. But more important, he was doing fine.
His music was doing something fine, indeed.
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When we got home from the Beach after dark, we learned that the TTC strike had been averted.
Okay then. Tomorrow afternoon I'm off to Eglinton station, the busking spot I lacked the nerve to visit a few months ago.
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