At the keys.

And then it hit me: I knew exactly where parts from my old introduction could get spliced into my new introduction, and then I knew exactly how it would end.

Things weren't quite that simple today, but they were a lot more smooth and productive than I'd had any suspicion they might be. Things went so well, in fact, that I nearly skipped my Thursday night concert so that I could just polish this blessed thing off. But then I thought of my piano teacher's excitement at the idea that I'd get to see tonight's performer. And I decided to go anyway.

By the time the concert started, I'd settled in amongst the Alfred Wallis paintings that fill the second level of the concert space, and my brain unwound just enough that by the time the Schubert sonata that was the concert's second half had begun, I'd started feeling my way around a couple of conceptual hurdles that had started rising up just before I left the flat.

Through the whole concert, I could hear the pianist breathing.

Each keystroke a grace, a soft power of touch.

I have packed in my next notes until the morning; if I give it space, my brain works out some of my writing overnight.