Austin — I pass mounds of dark mulch, piled on garden beds, ancient earth matter, new to me, and walk on a widened stone path to the studio. The world feels soft.
Yesterday I cleaned the long-lingering final clutter off the floor of the studio and it feels expansive, a different space.
I start into song, words, sentences, some cohesion even in meaning. I notice that similar words come up repeatedly in one long improvised song session, and other words come up over days in different session.
This feels like my dream world talking, an aspect of first-out-of-bed singing. Like yesterday’s practice of being on the edge of head and chest voice, early morning practice feels like the edge of dreaming and wakefulness.
My song goes long and falls apart after a while. What rises in the dissolution is falsetto and I stay there for a good long time, reaching the heights of my range, noticing the direct connection my body assumes between high notes and altitude, feeling myself stretch upward on my toes to go higher. I remember to relax down, which makes the heights more accessible and enjoyable.
Finally, I come back into my lower voice and it’s a much richer world for my having been away for a while. I finish by moving between chest and head, not playing at the border, but feeling the fullness of each one.