free write
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Home from a long day, I turn on Vivaldi’s Four Seasons and let my mind slip free from the shackles of routine. I drift into the music, becoming part of it, letting it steer my thoughts. It builds a world through one voice and many—instruments weaving together, tempos shifting, crescendos rising, then resting, only to
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The morning was shot before it even began. The journal app wouldn’t sync, wouldn’t save, wouldn’t do the one thing it was built to do. An hour lost trying to fix it, three entries gone. Maybe I backed one up in a zip file. Maybe I didn’t. Another I had cleaned up and thrown
BB Grey--musings 