There Are Leaks In The Roof Of My Palazzo di Memoria, You SeeWhen I was a child and we would visit my Grandmother, we would play in the alley behind the house. It is how we would always approach (no one ever parked on the street in front) and where the gravity of the house drew us. The front of the house was an adult place, calm and filled with precious things; the back of the house was a natural progression of kitchen, then back porch (with the bushels of apples in autumn, and the creaky glider), then stoop and garden (snapdragons). Finally, the alley. It was dust and sunlight and the promise of secrets if you were to follow it all the way to the end. I have ever found great comfort in alleys.
There are many where my home now is, and with wonderful names! We have a Sun Way and a Moon Way, a Grit Way and a Moose Way. There are the wondrous Ways of Theodolites and Expositions. In our neighborhood, Tesla has his Way.
Somewhere in all of this cartography is a Weak Way that I have been unable to find. I've seen a picture of the street sign; I know that in this day and age this is suspect evidence, but I would hope that it's there, somewhere, in all of these little streets. Regardless of that, its another good excuse to walk around a lot, and more of those is never bad.
The Hilliard Ensemble was in town this evening, and the performance was indeed a thing devoutly not to be missed. Should they come to your part of the world, they are worthy of a listen and a deep breath; they are wonderful.
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