A woman gets on near Symphony Hall.
She finds a place at the front, next to the only flat surface, a fender.
I go back to my book.
I glance up as we cross the Pike.
The woman has opened a score, laid it flat before her.
She conducs an orchestra only she can hear.
Despite the driver's best efforts, she keeps her balance,
and the score stays put.
What's more, she incorporates the driver's random jerking of the wheel —
his binary application of brake and gas —
Into her rhythm.
Making silent music amid the noise.