She was about six years old. Her simple blue dress was covered with a soft white sweater and she may have had on her Sunday shoes. Long brown hair, brushed until every strand was in place, fell down her back and that was all I saw of her until she turned around with observant eyes. She was holding a large doll, the kind you can hug and put in a stroller. The doll was dressed stylishly with a bonnet and pinafore and you could tell that it was well loved. Quietly, the little girl carried her doll away from her seat and into the aisle. Then they both started to twirl. Not recklessly. Not noisily. But as if they were angelic jewelry box dancers. The concert music seemed to carry them away…she was hearing the melody and responding with pure joy, not totally unabandoned because of the chairs and people on either side, but totally entranced. Some may have found her distracting; I did not. She elevated the music beyond fidgeting and rustling and coughing so that I was twirling with her in my mind, totally enveloped by every note. She shared her joy with me and I was touched.