Rebellious, resentful, unfulfilled, unresponsible.
Lazy, parasseusse, pigro, faul.
Chez moi: disappointed mother, jars of cookies, mess, book, sleep, sad.
Then, inspiration from a dusty corner: my saxophone, untouched for twelve months, serving as a bedside table. Black case, shinybeautifulperfect exterior. God, how I've missed you.
Nervously starting from the very beginning - books from years past, scales. Arpeggios. Slurs, eighth notes, treble clefs, three/four time - it all rushes back into those nooks and crannies, broken glass melting and reforming. Fitting exactly the way it should. It feels right. A clear, full sound, echoing downstairs; that lovely, inexplicable experience. Reverent notes.
It's impossible to describe it. Gold shimmery shiny reflections in the bell, reverberating whole notes, stacking sixteenths. Fulfillment.
Suffice it to say that
I've missed the music.
