And it was in the city of angels, before ninety thousand souls gathered in a great coliseum, that Rod Stewart lifted his voice in song. The multitude roared as the sea in tempest, and their joy shook the very earth beneath their feet.
Yet in the midst of such thunder, the eye of the singer fell upon a single flame — a child of the crowd who held aloft a small sign, wrought not of gold nor jewels, but of trembling words: “Thy music healed my soul in my darkest times.”
When Rod beheld it, the strings and the drums were stilled, and the sea of ninety thousand grew silent as the grave. He descended from the stage and came unto the child, and with arms opened wide he embraced the little one. The multitude watched, breath withheld, as though angels themselves bent low to listen.
Then with a voice that quivered like the breaking dawn, Rod spake unto the child, and his words rang through the silence as prophecy: “If my songs have borne thee through the nights of sorrow, then every note I have written, yea, every strain, was worth the toil.”
At this saying, many wept, and the multitude was moved as one heart. For in that hour they perceived that music was not mere revelry, but a balm for the wounded spirit, and a lamp for those who walk in darkness.
And when Rod returned to the stage, he raised his hand and offered “Forever Young” as a blessing upon the child, upon the city, and upon all who had gathered. Then did the people erupt in thunderous cry, not of clamor but of reverence, for Los Angeles was changed into a temple, and the concert into a prayer.
Thus shall it be remembered: the night when ninety thousand souls were bound together in silence, in song, and in love — the night when the minstrel became a healer, and music itself was revealed as the language of the heart eternal.
