The other evening, as I was running through Stamford, I made my usual turn onto a street that borders a graveyard. I tend to note graveyards at this time of year (in particular) because of the foliage and the littering of leaves on the ground, somehow fitting for the setting. This time though I saw an old man, seated quietly on a stone, just staring at a tombstone. His dog (who also seemed old) lingered next to him. The scene seemed peaceful, nostalgic, and quiet. I stopped there again yesterday morning (this time alone), just to gaze at the glow of the leaves still hanging from the trees.
This weekend has been filled with Tchaikovsky. Yale Philharmonia performance on Friday (Symphony no. 2), Connecticut Ballet this afternoon at the Palace Theater (Sleeping Beauty), and soon rehearsal with St Thomas Orchestra (Symphony no. 5). Despite all this, I still have the Brahms melody from quintet rehearsal running through my mind.