On this Saturday morning, I woke up at 8:30am, and while alternating between Amin Maalouf’s Rock of Tanois and writing in this wretched blog, I was reminded of a Saturday morning in November back in the 90s. It was a typical autumn morning in Washington, DC, and the air was crisp. I had all of the windows of my apartment open and was thoroughly cleaning the place. I am not sure whether that day has or had any significance whatsoever, but for some reason whenever I listen to Joan Armatrading, I always have the unclear memory of open windows and the DC fall in my mind.
I am certain that I had been listening to Joan Armatrading (as well as certain other music) on that day. Sometimes I remember that day as sunny, and at other times as overcast. But, generally, it is listening to Joan that reminds me of that seemingly insignificant day, whereas now I am recalling that day and being reminded of Joan Armatrading. Does that make any sense?