It all started on the corner of the streets Munkácsy Mihály and Szondi. Not before I stepped on the crosswalk, but by the time I crossed Szondi Street towards the corner of Epreskert, it was already there. The chocolate was already dripping, the pistachio was still holding, no one on the streets, the sun was blazing like a torch – as my distant relative Dide would have written. And then time stood still, and in my hand with the melting ice cream I found the perfect moment, the unspoken bliss of existence.
There are some things one does not out of necessity, but in obedience to some hidden, inner impulse. Sitting in an empty cinema alone, popping down for an ice cream, getting off one stop earlier and walking, smiling at the old lady on the subway. And such thing is listening to music. It makes no sense, it makes no profit, it does not “move the world forward”. But it can preserve that moment, the one that crawled alongside me in the crosswalk and led me by the arm for a few more minutes. It’s a miracle like the one Louis Daguerre saw after long minutes of anxious waiting, when the exact image of a busy Paris street was outlined on the glass – and stayed there forever. Poetry, music: timeless photographs of moments we wait for all our lives, often in vain.
The ice cream is gone, leaves will fall, days are getting shorter, streets will get crowded. Yet, that moment will stay with me. Thanks to you, Johannes! Thanks to you, Dide!
My September stop on the path of musical beauty and reverence:
Author: Máté Hámori