Late light in the atelier

Satie on the small player, late light sliding across the drafting table. Pouring a bone‑dry Chenin Blanc — the glass cool against the palm — while tracing a new elevation with a fingertip more curious than tidy.

The apprentices arrived on time, one carrying a smoked brass sconce; they moved through the measures learned in rehearsal with quiet exactness. One held my glance and did not rush the silence; the pause stretched like a well‑drawn plan.