music

Dylan

This afternoon, heading out to the plant nursery, I reached for the dashboard and popped the Sirius button. The radio came on with a voice that was distinctly Dylan. It was The Beatles Channel, but Dylan’s song was a nice change of pace. Sometimes they play recordings by artists who inspired The Beatles. The program was Dark Horse Radio, a show Laura Cantrell hosts, which features George Harrison’s music. As they describe it, all things George. Minutes later, waiting at the light, I realized they were playing Dylan again. Both were songs I didn’t know.

The host spoke after the second song, noting that both recordings featured George in the instrumentation. She continued, as I turned into the parking lot, to say Dark Horse Radio was playing Dylan music in celebration of Bob Dylan’s 80th birthday.  Whoah! Bob Dylan is 80 years old?

His birthday was on the 24th, and maybe I’ll spend the evening playing some Dylan tunes.

Bob Dylan. Surely one of the best songwriting talents of his generation.

night

out on the edge of darkness

I’ve only seen the milky way once. If I had to guess, I’ll never see it again. I suppose there are people who live in the middle of nowhere and see it often. Sometimes? Often? I don’t know. But. There are stars.

And there’s the milky way.

__________________________________

This is a night sky with clouds. I surely don’t have any photos of the milky way. “Out on the edge of darkness”, those are words from Cat Stevens’ Peace Train (1971).

heaven

????

I don’t know what heaven’s like. Sometimes I imagine, though.

Do souls remember each other? From their days on earth, on solid ground.

Do they have a level of souldom beyond anything we, living humans, can understand? Like, do they know the code? And do they make new connections with fascinating souls who lived centuries ago? Or do they still hang with the same folks they knew from human times, old friends from their lives, the lives they lived here?

Ahh, I don’t know. What do you think?

Is there still pride? And egos? Music and noise?

Are they sitting around a table? Laughing out loud. Joking. Telling stories.

I hope so.

2021

out and about

Excitement and high pitched voices. Nothing you could recognize as words. It wouldn’t be going too far to call it squealing.

The sound of kids. The sound of kids heading somewhere with the pace they use when it’s just them. Kids with no grown-ups holding them back. Like … FREEDOM!

After a full minute of just sounds moving up the trail, two boys came around the bend on bikes. Maybe eight years old. Helmets. Full speed. Wheels bouncing over bumpy dirt. You know the rhythm of left/right, left/right. That standing-up kind of pedaling kids use when they want to go as fast as they can. All the time, their almost-yelling-we’re-so-excited-voices. Not indoor voices. No, definitely outdoor voices.

They looked and sounded like they’d been in timeout for a week, and were just released. Or they were pals who hadn’t seen each other for a long time. They sounded like it was Halloween night, and they just left home for a couple hours of fun, fun, fun. It sounded like the last day of school, in normal times.

Kids have their own version of YAY.

reading

tiptoe

It’s like a tiptoe.

That book we read at night.

In a room that’s dark, but for the glow of a reader, everything’s still and the day’s chores are done. A minute for the brain to shift reality. Then, on cue, characters find their places in the plot, and slowly start up where they left off, with footsteps, stealthy footsteps. And their flaws, and missteps.

They creep along, close to the ground. And stop long enough to peak out, from the shelter of a field that lies quiet, below a sky that hasn’t changed yet, from evening to night. It’s July, and the damp air lingers with the smell of dirt, and vegetation, and tension. They rise up, so they’re almost standing, and stare past the tall stalks, into a clearing. And then stunned and silent, they fall back. Without even time to digest and recalculate their surroundings, they hear words in the distance. Far-off words, words that should be silent and mysterious, hang with invisible clarity in the air overhead, in that place where hope evaporates to sky.

2021, life, pandemic

inertia

A year in pandemic is a bit like a long afternoon on the front porch. The same kind of boredom, but without the pleasant sense of relaxing. The same kind of inertia, but without the sweet breeze playing at the hair on the back of your head.

After months and months, the possibility you’ll come up with some motivation to think, oh yeah, that’s what I want to do…that possibility’s remote. It’s more like, let’s see, you ought to get up and clean out a couple of drawers. The other day I found a dollar bill in an old purse I hadn’t used in years. There was a spark of excitement, sort of delight, that lasted about one minute. Maybe I hoped it was a twenty dollar bill. At least a five.

life, music, prince

in through the out door

First, let’s picture him.

Yes, let’s picture Prince. His blue suit, the white clouds, that impish grin, big brown eyes drawing you in….

Okay? Ready?

One,
Two,
One, two, three, four.

I was working part time in a five-and-dime.
My boss was Mr. McGee.

Seems that I was busy doing something close to nothing
But different than the day before
.
That’s when I saw her, ooh, I saw her.
She walked in through the out door, out door
.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

[lyrics from Prince’s Raspberry Beret]

[This is a re-post. Prince passed away five years ago, a genius lost much too soon.]