ES IST EIN' ROS' ENTSPRUNGEN

Roses spring up in unlikely places. Sloshing my way through a city downpour I wasn't thinking about roses when a sweet golden sound from the throat of a horn made me peer into the cavernous concrete portico of a vast office building where a small crowd huddled. As I stepped in closer a quartet of seated young musicians raised their shining brass instruments and that gentle medieval melody became a tangible presence. A woman listened eyes closed/hands clasped. Two men in correct business suits led the applause when the pure/precise tones hushed. It was then I noticed a small sign reading "NO donations." Happily it did not forbid our taking each a rose away!

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