The Violinist

Ever hear a violinist in the subway station?
Do you stop and throw in a loonie or walk on by?
Along the TransCanada Highway straight through Calgary there's a violin repair and service store. It's a small stucco house with a sign that's faded and peeling. The windows are dark and I only imagine the old, gray-haired man working with fine expensive instruments in the back, testing out the bow and strings, melodic notes soaring and filling the space. It's a romantic thought with soft images like Mona Lisa's smile.

Down the road there's a business painted like a Holstein Cow, black and white splotches. Intriguing sure, a landmark certainly, calling out to eyes of passers by like hungry cows ready to be milked at 5 a.m. No image of dancing divas in colourful boas, or live parrots looking for their pirate perchs surrounded by circus music chiming retards my brain, only that of a lovely meadow with cow chewing cud.

What's down your street?