I would not have imagined another encounter without the paradox of you, or found myself in a past that became my future in your absence.
My writing life might have been barren but for you. Even the waiting for you. And the letting go. Especially, the wanting to hold on.
Our story is now buried and visited by strangers. That is how it is told.
I “knew” Alessandro Stradella. I recognized his distinct voice, his swaying form, his infectious smile, and his wandering heart. I had witnessed the rise and fall of his talents, how his music had showered him with forgiveness if not fortune.
Before her was a gracious creature, especially his hands composing in mid-air and eyes shifting slowly in observation and expression. His hair was an admission of the recklessness that got him in trouble, the vagrancy of his genius making him too accessible. Without music’s influence he might not wander like a prince among his subjects, although who could think that was all there was to him?
~ From A House Near Luccoli
extraordinary Baroque Composer
born April 3, 1639
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