Dear Diary and all the readers I practiced a scale or two last night. Cautiously moving off to a road less travelled: minor scales. I abandon the snowy white path of G major for the blue grey of G minor. The crimson of a major suddenly acquires a muddy shade and a softer texture brought about by C sharp flattened to C. The light pastel lilac of D major becomes powdery blue as I venture into its minor side. As my fingers travel across their fretted paths I become more aware, my senses heightened to different sounds, textures, and colours. What mysteries there are to music and how sweetly the mandolin conveys them to my tentative but impatient fingers. I allow the minors to transport me to places unseen; cultures and traditions outside of my immediate consciousness. As I play, I allow myself to be carried - and long may I be privileged to dwell in the sweet temple of the mandolin sound
