This morning our pick-up renaissance motet vocal quartet rehearsed. Reading this counterpoint at sight, I found no difference in musical skill since the stroke, either in finding pitch, time or word — and some of the Latin texts were unfamiliar too. While sightreading requires a complex of skills — time values, pitches, words and a contouring of melodic line — it’s without ideational content. That partly accounts for its pleasant, focused divertissement. There’s also no grammar.

Despite this blunt stroke, all in all the muse, along her dance, alit with subtle, deft, deliberate grace; yet one more a part of mind untouched and safe, apart and whole. So, some pools are quiet, well and still, at least.

A friend, conversing in the park two weeks after this stroke, asked that we leave the convex benches for concave benches, so we’d not have to turn our heads so sharply as we converse. When we approached the concave curve, he began to sit next on our same bench next to me. I quickly remind me explained that sitting together on the straight benches would have been no different from before — the benches all are straight, it’s only between the pairs of benches that they are angled acutely or obtusely — so we’d benefit only by sitting at the junctures between two benches…

[Seated facing right, the first pair of benches were obtuse ‘>’ versus the pair we found were acute facing right ‘<‘. ]

…as with quietly satisfaction I recognized that, regardless of any loss of speech, cognitive acuity has not dulled to obtuseness.

On the other hand, I find that in speech and writing I regularly omit the past tense inflection. Often, often.


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