Among the many stories I want to tell about Krakow is the story of that one solitary day in which the sun shone on the main square (Ryneck Glowny), the largest public square in Europe. It is the sort of place where universities showcase their academic wares, kielbasa is fried to perfection, lace makers make their lace, president-elects stump on the eve of their election, crepes ooze with fresh strawberries, trumpeters announce the hour, politicians march, actors perform, bubble blowers blow, and chamber orchestra musicians slip inside the side door of a small historic church to play (we followed them in; we listened).
But on this particular rare sunny day, Ryneck Glowny was bedazzled by the differently abled. They came from far and wide—in wheelchairs, with teachers, with parents. They massed before their own craft huts, dressed in local colors, and performed upon their stage, telling the story of the Krakow dragon and singing traditional songs.
It was exquisite. To sit there among them, to congratulate them on their art, to see this Polish city embrace their shining talents.
The sun had come. So had they.
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