Heart of Gold

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It was a brisk, sunny autumn afternoon in Kyoto.  I had fallen in love with the city the moment I arrived and every breath and step I took there made me feel like I was floating, suspended in an effortless flow. 

My spirits were high that Sunday even though my time in Kyoto was coming to an end.  I was grateful to be out and about taking in Kyoto’s Old Town charm with hungry, wide-open eyes.

As I strolled down Pontocho Alley, a walk I had taken my first night in town but much, much later in the evening, I saw it come to life through a new set of characters and colors.  Now there were children screeching in delight from a nearby playground and young locals soaking up the last of their weekends along the river’s edge.  The whole scene unfolded through vibrant red and yellow leaves framed against a brilliant blue sky.  

It was a technicolor snapshot in time, a moving postcard I pressed deep into my memory as I walked further down the passageway.  As I made my way to nowhere in particular, I passed a man playing Neil Young’s “Heart of Gold” on his acoustic guitar.  I love that song.  And as I walked on I realized I was humming it along with him. 

It made me smile.    

I didn’t know his story. But I had to imagine he was out there on a Sunday afternoon because that was his calling.  I admired the bravado and simplicity of that.

And… he was really good.

I stopped, retraced my steps and dropped a handful of coins into his guitar case. 

I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.  I just wanted to buy him a cup of coffee.  Most of all, I wanted to make sure he felt heard that day.  Sometimes I think that’s more rewarding than anything – an acknowledgement that our art exists.  And that we exist alongside it.

He called after me to thank me and asked me where I was from.  When I said, “Chicago,” he broke into the Blues.  Now he was the one smiling. 

And that made me smile again too.