June 22, 2014

Early morning jaunt, not so early as before, and there was blue in the east and north when I came back to my door. Disintegrating moon.

Excellent early morning at the studio. When I left, no on else had yet arrived.

Cantaria concert was, as DJ put it, better than it might have been. Tiny audience in a big space, though they expect a larger one this afternoon. Would I drive out to Warren Wilson for a concert of a summer’s evening? Put that way, I thank whoever did come, and bless them. I didn’t have my low notes, and one place in particular depended on them.

Ate far too late, and had various kinds of digestive distress as I fitfully slept. Perhaps to this I attribute the second hearing of the ghost voice.

The final note of “The Birth of Color” is a contra B flat. None of the boys had it. I do. I was dying to say so, but then I thought of all the ways that gesture could turn out wrong.

Must dedicate part of the day to sending out manuscripts. Other writers get writer's block; I get submitter's block.