you unfold your fabric. you gently iron it, pressing out the creases from the wash. you pick your pattern, thinking about the sewists who have maybe interpreted it before you. you look at the parts, deciding which rules to follow and which rules to break, what embellishments you might add. you choose where you want the pieces to lie, placing your wisps of tissue on the grain.
you take a deep breath for the first cut, and hold your breath for the reveal.
you open up your music books. you flip through, thinking of the singers that have interpreted the songs before you. you pick your tune, pressing out the creases in the dogeared pages. you learn the notes by the rules, and decide which you want to include, which you might break, what embellishments you might add. you choose where you want the key to lie, placing it in a meter.
you take a deep breath for the long notes, and hold your breath for the reveal.
one of the most beautiful performances i've ever seen happened at 54 below last night. if it comes back, and i believe it will, don't miss it. it reminded me how much joy there is in song. and how much i miss it.