As I suspected would happen, I've been swallowed alive by Marlboro. Time seems somehow timeless up here in the green mountains Vermont, reality unbelievably and blissfully distant, and music, being the only thing that really matters, is ubiquitous. It feels both great and strange to be back here, life having ground to a screeching halt, and an unceasing, nagging need to practice and study as much as possible tugging at me. It's a summer of Schumann for me, as well as a couple of other treats (some Britten and some Vaughan Williams), all of it happily unfamiliar territory that leaves me wondering with each rehearsal why I have never explored it before now.
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