Oh, the beautiful things that I see. The colors, the swirls. And the music that I hear! It's always there. Sometimes I go for long stretches without listening. Yesterday I played Moondog's wonderful "Paris" on the radio and the reaction stunned me. Some beauty transcends all boundaries.
It must have been 1970. Harry and I were exploring Manhattan in the way that hillbillies do. There, in the middle of a busy intersection, stood a blind street musician in viking garb with long, flowing silver hair. He was singing, chanting and playing assorted pipes and drums.
I had never heard of Moondog. I'll never forget him.