Michael Lalonde

TRAVEL VIGNETTE FIRST PLACE

By day , I walk many miles through England ’ s bucolic countryside landscapes , along its rivers and streams , up the beckoning hills dotted with sheep . Low in the valleys , I settle into cozy inns with firelit pubs by nightfall . Each day I descend upon a new village to meander amid the ubiquitous honeycoloured limestone shops and cottages . Presently , I am in a village that remains unchanged , a place to this day its Georgian forebears would recognize at once . The sun ’ s warm caress follows me as I venture away from the village ’ s oft-visited canals , for which Bourton-on-the-Water is famous ; it is referred to as the “ Venice of the Cotswolds .” I stand momentarily before a vibrant yellow building silhouetted against the pale blue sky , when a notice catches my eye :

Classical Concert at

St . Lawrence ’ s Church , Bourton-on-the-Water

on

Saturday 1 st June , 3pm .

That ’ s today !

When will you hear live music resonating out from the chancel of a twelfth century church ? I ’ ll delay a stroll among the yew hedges of the Dragonfly Maze or a wander in the Cotswold Motoring Museum . This hurried world can wait .

I make my way inside the Church of St . Lawrence .

On a bench in the vestibule rests a vase brimming with lavender . Breathing in its calming floral scent sets the mood . Anxious to be off my feet , the beautifully carved oak pews seem to draw me forward . I take my place in the nave among the other white-haired attendees . Up front a step or two by the chancel arch sits the pianist at the ready . Two sopranos perform Vivaldi ’ s breathtaking Laudamus te . One wears a blue kaftan with matching scarf , while the other sports a darker kaftan with a white bolero jacket , both long loose dresses swaying in rhythm to the music . Franz Schubert ’ s sublime Ave Maria follows . Voices rise to the king post roof high above the stained-glass windows . The melody exudes an atmosphere of warmth and intimacy with strangers . I take slow breaths , feel tensions wash away , as I listen blissfully to the wonder of the notes echoing about the room .

Nothing has prepared me for this . I feel tears welling up .

Why ? I don ’ t know what the lyrics mean . Have no specific memory I can recall that elicits such wistfulness . I ’ m on a magic carpet , comforted by the ebb and flow of the music , and then slowly the notes fade away ; and all at once they descend like raindrops of joy .

When it is over , we applaud generously . Share smiles . Stand . Exit in solemn procession to carry on with routines . That means more walking for me , but I don ’ t notice my aching feet as much .

SPRING 2025 | 41