There is far too much to write about tonight so I’ll stick to generalities. First, the pleasures of meaningfully pleasureable conversation over a warming dinner, while outside the clear air gets colder and reminds you of the time of year when frost gathers…
The inspiration of such talk, which drives you upstairs to the piano, where you find it comforting that you have lost some technique and have to work carefully and slowly at the familiar tiny flexes and extensions of the muscles again…
A lamplit Scottish chapel in the middle of winter, where the only sound in–between your musical phrases was the sound of the wind against heavy wooden doors… Bach and sea winds go well together…
A new bottle of bourbon which you read, and think, deeply about before even breaking the seal — how estranged it seems, here in its bottle, and how at home in the glass in your hand…
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