Why is it that, as exhausted as I am, an evening with George literally infuses me with more energy than I can handle? Poetry doesn't do this. Exercise doesn't do this. Music does this.
Some might say it's because I'm manic, and that George tends to hit the "manic switch" in my brain. I think it's something simpler than that. Clearly, George is so happy that I finally visited him, so his pure pianistic joy is now overflowing into every cell of my body. That's it.
I played Bach. Sigh. I can rest now.
More happy piano pics are here.