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Terry Brennan's avatar

I cast an eye around the pit, locking with the errant strings and the wilful ones in percussion, demanding they desist from improvisation and return from off-piste to the purity and precision of Mendelssohn's Hebridean score.

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J. M. Mikkalsson's avatar

Memories dogging him, striking down barriers to the unknown, telling him at odd moments when he was mindfully chopping wood or when the sight of falling snowflakes dislodged recall of the moment he had said, “We will all be killed. This is where I die,” that he had not died.

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