My pipes, my strings

The constant music is a reminder that I like to sing, especially when no one else is around to here, and that I like to dance, alone and in company. Singing unlocks my voice somehow my light-opera expressitivity, my comic whimsy, it loosens my neck and shoulders. Dancing gives my body a way to tell me where it feels sore and where it feels stuck. I have to pay attention. I at least don’t make the patterns worse that day.
I wondered recently if our sinews in our muscles can get twisted like a telephone wire. There are times when repeated backward Pete Townsendish windmill armswings feel as though I am unspooling a tightly wound rope of jute through the shoulder joint.