It is it

Just got back from a double feature. Disney's Enchanted and August Rush. Sure was promising to be a pretty brainless experience before I entered the cinema. Count on me, though, to nonetheless cull a profound realization from it on the way home.

I left the cinema and came out into a muted metropolis. A fog had descended upon Boston on the eve of Turkey Day and I felt compelled to walk the distance between Tremont Street and home. Most of Boston's residents were well on their way to respective hometowns (for that annual trek in the name of the American tradition that is Thanksgiving) and there was a particular serenity to the city. On the playlist was a modest mix of Elgar, Lauridsen, Lennon and Radiohead. That's when I let it hit me. Between monuments that line the Public Gardens --- that was where the fact stared me in the face. Music is quite undeniable, isn't it? One may plod along her life swearing by just one of its forms or he may consciously seek out the many that make him the one. But there is no denying the power and possibility of this art form. It permeates and, just like this November fog, equalizes any and all. And for lack of a sense of tradition on this beloved holiday, I propose this:

Music is our thanks --- for the lifelong search, for the why, the letdown that led to the Wisdom, for beauty that poisons, and friendship, family, for yearly feasts, feel good movies and the short walks home.