We were at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minnesota last week for a physical tune-up of sorts.

In the middle of the marble-floored, high-ceilinged, main lobby area a pianist dressed in scrubs was playing her heart out. The simple melody floated through the open space.

We stopped, grateful for a break from tests and appointments, and listened.

As we stood there, a man literally bounced up to us and said, "Do you know what song she is playing?

And we, of course, did not.

He was so thrilled to tell us the name of the melody - some Italian number written by a famous Italian composer that this man was enamored with. He could not contain his joy!

And then he bounced away, turning back one last time to grin widely at us.

He was not showing off by telling us what he knew.

He was sharing his joy of music and brilliant composers and lovely melodies with two random strangers in the lobby of a world-renowned hospital known for having some of the most gifted medical staff in the universe and some of the sickest, most desperate patients ever.

The lobby is the place where the healers and the sick pass each other on their way toward hope.

And one woman played a gorgeous Italian number.

And one couple stood and enjoyed it.

And one bouncy man could not contain his joy or his knowledge or his grin.

And we were lucky enough to be at that intersection at that exact moment.