Somewhere, on the corner of a street, there's a a lost fragment of a long forgotten silence. The city's tremors and hubbub are broken, yet silence has a new cloth which fills the air with smooth vibrance and peace. The Minstrel is there. And for an unknown reason to the rushed passers, he is and always will be there, somewhere. On that corner, or on the next one, or in the heart of those who shall stop time when passing by and then listen to his silence heal wounds of rush and worries.
Beauty in the creation of life ends in beauty. It is perhaps only a matter of reaching it. And thereafter the rest of everyday life passing hours will seem...just playfully colored in beauty.