The way in the Bach E Major Prelude that a note holds itself over, making the finger that plays it wait while the others flow on.
The way neither has anything to do with me. I am just an accident who happens along.
I finish the apple and go back to the Bach for another try.
This is bliss. It’s okay that the TV isn’t working this morning, that the cables are down somewhere.
It’s okay that I don’t know what’s going on in the world right now.
I scarcely noticed the color of the apple. Was it mostly yellow with a tinge of red, the red like a tremor?
I don’t know where taste ends and touch begins.
But I know the give and take of the Bach, the slowly moving forward, the honesty it demands of my fingers.