Some evenings linger longer than they’re supposed to. Not because of the time, but because of what happens in the quiet afterwards… when the dishes are done, the stories fade to stillness, and someone sings not to perform, but to feel something shift.

This drifting note comes from a night in early spring, spent in the upstairs room of my friend Astrid’s house in Donzdorf. No concert. No audience. Just her voice, a piano nearby, and the tender insistence of a Fauré song she’s still learning to carry.

It’s about music, but also about practice. About curiosity and about what it means to love something enough to start again.

Thanks for drifting with me, Lyss

Have you ever returned to something you loved—something you hadn’t practiced in years—just to see if it still fit?

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