Segovia playing Bach's "Chaconne"; written apparently soon after Bach's wife died, this maze of repeating notes that ebb and flow is where the endlessly restless mind will rest today.

Between a day of work and a night which will be filled with work, I pass through the valley in which

the sun, aslant through the cypresses, is cooling its fingers in the river, and every hill has become more vivid in its own long shadows.

I take these minutes with their sudden arc of geese flying across the highway as a sacrament for the heart to be.