The saxophone player is in his usual spot underneath the el tracks. I know this because so long as I have my windows open, i can hear all that he plays, and because he always sits in the same spot. He has so much energy for playing--just today he has been out for hours, his musical thoughts drifting through my windows while I write or edit.
I love listening to him play, and I just thought of a new reason for this love today: Although there are familiar phrases he repeats, often with alteration, I cannot predict the next note most of the time. I have to pay attention if I am to hear him well. To pay attention, I have to let go of the thoughts in my head and make myself open and receptive. When I listen to a fixed piece of music, even one I love, I find that I can lose my attentiveness by anticipating the next note or phrase in my head instead of focusing on the note at hand. I rush ahead of the music in my head and miss what happens as it happens. (And the same in conversations when I divide my attention between what is being said and how I will interpret it or how I will respond or what might or must come next.)
The gentleman sitting outside for hours every pleasant afternoon and evening playing his saxophone whether people stop and listen or not, filling my home all summer with the notes he chooses to play--this gentleman teaches me how to pay attention, and I am grateful for him.
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