A woman was singing on the bus

A woman was singing on the bus this morning. Not loudly, just a soft, quiet, soprano melody. Her voice didn’t compete with the noise of transit and traffic. Her song, sometimes fading into the inaudible and back again, weaved in wavelength parallel with the rest of the soundscape. The song was so soft she might as well have been singing to herself. But we, the commuters, were all listening attentively. Straining, in fact, to catch a few of the notes. The song wasn’t merely grace in the bustle, but it made the bustle graceful. The beautiful thing about beauty is that it doesn’t need to triumph over its surroundings. Beauty isn’t an escape from something; it is the redemption of everything.

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