If I cried out, who among the angels would hear my voice?

This morning as I rode on the bus in to work, I was reminded of one of the more compelling reasons why I love this town. To my left, a gentleman intently reading a scientific paper titled, "Functional Pattern Analysis: Predicting the Evolution of Complex Organized Networks." To my right, a fellow perusing an anthology of poetry by Rainer Maria Rilke. Behind me, a lively discussion between a man and a woman about the annealing process in snowflake formation. In front of me, a crowd of faces hinting of Asian, European, African, and Latin origins, all bundled in their assorted winter armor, dusted in a layer of new and infinitely variable snowflakes.