i finally stopped playing piano to drink some water. sparkled with ice. looked at the clock, ready to retire for the night, knew it was late, past time to be playing in the quiet of this neighborhood.

7 20.

oh my.

it's saturday night, and i must be back to teaching. tired in my bones.

but tonight i discovered the mozart rondo. hidden in the back of the second book of sonatas. hello sweet melody so elegant i wince. pure excitement. i gasp at his brilliance over and over. it's like meeting a new friend, finding a piece of music like this for the first time. it's a friend i want to keep for life, this 494. i want more, like chewy candy without the tummy ache. it's the good kind of head rush. i suddenly want so badly to give this love to my students, to study beauty so intently i have no idea what time it is.

this is home now. this space i am growing to love everyday. i exit out the front door, leave my car at home. walk to everywhere, anywhere. why not, take my time, live this way. ride the train. sweat more. breathe more deeply.

my friend says i might as well carry a baguette in my shoulder bag, a bottle of wine too. it's a type of pretending, i must admit. i still live in pasadena after all, not a village in germany, or a beach town on the coast of spain, or even a cozy corner of brookln. people eat at 6 and go to bed early too. they drive their cars to the gym and shop at cosco and often i walk alone on these streets.

but does it matter anyways? it's the only life i have. i'll be 40 anyhows someday, and these shoes were made for walking. i'll take my pie to go, and sausage for dinner. i'll meet someone on the train, and close my eyes between stops. the trees they talk with me in the evenings after dinner, and when i forget for a moment which street i'm on, when i stop to look around again, i realize i stopped thinking for a fraction of time, and i took a break from effort. all on the walk home.