Evening

What if the musical memories of songs last played months ago were not held in the muscles, but in the heart – the passion coming through with every E that follows C? The occasional B, played at just the right moment, adds depth. I love the moment of getting into a song: when the notes flow and you’re enjoying the music – the moments when nothing seems to matter but the note you hear, and what note you are going to play next. I like to try playing new notes to see if they work; maybe they don’t, but I can move on. (Should I be thinking about this in other contexts too?)I play at the piano and I play with words; the whiteboard scribbled with phrases that don’t fit into a piece yet – potentialities and possibilities; notes to my future self. “Write a poem”; experiments with syntax. “Between.” Essays as love letters. “Fluidity of what we notice” – a bookmark to a thought a friend had lately that continues to stick in my memory: what makes something stand out more to us than something…