I took a few ‘word snapshots’ while on the road in Europe. I wanted to capture the kind of moments that could not be caught by a lens. You know, those moments that happen too fast and you don’t have time to whip out your camera, or when a person or scene is so beautiful but it would be really rude to snap a picture, or maybe it is the day you decide to not take your camera because you want to be present in the moment and not thinking about how this would make a good picture to show someone when you get home. I had a number of those moments while traveling. I had to cement them in my memory somehow; my sloppy words had to do. Here is one of my ‘snapshots’ of a man inside the Basilica at Montserrat, in Spain.
He was among those who remained after the boys choir had sung their two beautiful songs. People left in hoards on either side of the pew he sat in. They came, they saw, and now they thought, “Get me outta here!” I suppose I would lump myself in with the hoards needing to get out. Not him. He remained sitting there, near the back of the Basilica. With his head cupped in one hand, he leaned on the pew in front of him. On his face was a most beautiful look of contentment. I walked quickly by, hurried, not only by my own desire to get out of the crowded dark church, but by the people behind me, also eager to see the daylight. Not him. He was not eager to leave. He sat, as if stunned into silence, content to rest and soak in the music. It was as if the music still bounced around in his head; he stared out and watched the notes still reverberating and bouncing around the church.