This little girl put it on the map. From Dvorak’s, Rusalka.
“Song to the Moon”
It’s that which comes back to one. Under concentration. When fine movements and tempo are foremost to the task at hand.
And it’s a voice of a quality — were we on a better version of Earth — we might hear as we crossed the square in front of the cathedral doors.
A Wednesday. Practice for Sunday service.
A phrase or so. (Is all it takes).
“In a moment,
In the twinkling of an eye,
At the last trump-et,
We shall all be change-d”
One did return to his home with the same name. All else, maybe not.
Music is one-half of worship. This is the high level of quality we developed. Built the spaces for it.
The chance.
(Opera comes much, much later).