Make a wish.
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Summertime . . . 3
summertime . . . 2
The distant crackle of thunder on a dark starless night and the noisy patter of raindrops hitting the roof and the dirt. You can smell it, that old familiar earthy scent. You can’t help but breathe in the thick, moisture-laden air. Lungs receive the rich brew, and senses recognize the familiarity of the scent. The force of falling droplets brings a welcome cooling breeze. But when all is said and done, the night remains a sauna, and even watching under cover, you find the skin remains clammy, and hair and clothing cling.
Inspiration: I Love a Rainy Night, Eddie Rabbitt
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They may not be used elsewhere or reblogged.
summertime
Tangled memories and twisted connections.
There’s this thing about summer. It lives in our soul. It’s a memory (a feeling?) lingering from years back, an emotional synapse connecting the warm days and nights of the past with the present.
Growing up, many summers ago, I slept with windows open on both sides of the room (before AC, we had cross-ventilation), and a nighttime breeze would blow in from the outside and over the sheets. A cooling, soothing breeze to lull me to sleep. Gentle as an unexpected afternoon nap.
On one of those nights I saw the outline of my leg in the dark under the sheets, and thought it was a snake. A big snake…as big as my leg. It scared me enough I can still remember it today, and I realized back then, even in that childish moment, how silly it was. How foolish I was.
I got scared outside tonight. Scared of what? I was scared an animal would come at me out of the dark. I was scared I’d lean back too far, looking for stars, I’d lose my balance and fall backward. Pretty foolish stuff.
Summer evenings aren’t all tenderness, nighttime prayers, gentle rains, and comforting breezes. The livin’ ain’t always easy. But it’s all there, isn’t it, not far from the surface of our psyche, the screen doors and street lights, fireflies, distant thunder, and silly childish fears. We muddle our way through life and find it all, unexpectedly at times, still tucked away where we left it, memories and juvenile emotions, and part of the grown up person we are today. It all lives in our soul.
Summertime by George Gershwin, DuBose Heyword, and Ira Gershwin.
My previous post on Summertime, the song: https://etikser.home.blog/2020/05/28/summertime/
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All photos and images here are my own.
They may not be used elsewhere or reblogged.
day and night
nightfall delivers glorious moonlight
It’s an addiction. The craving to go outside and catch the first golden light of dawn. Hours later, it’s the last few minutes of a long day, and I have to convince my ocean-breeze-tangled self to go inside, to leave a perfectly executed moon shining on the waves, even as the timepiece on my hand tells me I should be in bed.
A last glimpse of moonlight and the irresistible grandeur of the ocean and I head inside, reluctantly. Careful to pull the curtains open in my room, caution against sleeping in and missing the first sunlight rising again, over the horizon.
It’s an addiction…the ocean. A fabulous, senseless, overpowering addiction.
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All photos and images here are my own.
They may not be used elsewhere or reblogged.
constant
The first lustrous light of dawn,
Like the season’s first red rose to open,
Like the downbeat in your favorite song.
Worth the wait.
A pulse born to modulate.
A natural rhythm
we seize upon for the solace of what’s constant.
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They may not be used elsewhere or reblogged.
here and gone on a magnolia wind
Magnolia Wind is a tender old ballad from Guy Clark, a country music songwriter and performer (November 6, 1941 – May 17, 2016). Magnolia Wind has been a favorite of mine for years, and I found the song and Guy Clark’s story by way of John Prine, one of a number who covered this classic. According to Guy Clark, Magnolia Wind is “a made-up song about some boy who’s in love with Sis [Draper]”, a fiddle-player who taught Shawn Camp, the song’s co-writer, to play fiddle. No wonder it’s become a cherished part of the legendary, story-telling culture of country music.
The magnolia is a large and ancient variety of aromatic flowering plants, a genus that’s been around for up to 20 million years. I don’t have any in my yard, but neighbors do, and I do my best to capture something of the magnolia’s brief but sumptuous blooming period in the spring. The blooms don’t last long. Much the same as the lyrics, “it’s here and it’s gone on a magnolia wind.”
Happy Earth Day!
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Happy St. Patrick’s Day
about fear
“Do one thing every day that scares you.”
― Eleanor Roosevelt
Where to walk.
Which way to steer.
Dread and fear,
Scared.
Terror???
Some of my best moments
Were past sunset,
Meandering about my favorite woodlands,
Relaxed and comfortable,
In my element.
But I’m watching Stranger Things these days,
And I wonder,
Why these folks persist in wandering, after dark,
Among those tall trees,
In the woodlands.
And I think, “Get out of there!”
Much as I love my trees,
And I’ve wandered, past sunset, later than I should,
Among my favorite trees,
Off the path, and down to the creek,
I’d never crawl through a hole in a tree,
through the Upside Down muck and the distinctly creepy.
Where to walk.
Which way to steer.
Dread and fear,
And scary terror.
Alarmed, upset,
Sometimes, I fear,
Scared to death.
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They may not be used elsewhere or reblogged.
night and day
I don’t know the constellations like so many do. I know the Big Dipper, and the Little Dipper, and I used to know the North Star. Now it’s just me and that bright star I see so many nights in the west…Sirius? a planet? I don’t know…and it’s not just for me, it’s for everybody, I suppose…that bright star (or planet). It’s been guiding folks for centuries. Surely, you know that star.
I remember lying in bed at the beach after Christmas. It was night, and so it was dark, the room was dark but for the glare of the tv, and outside it was dark. Beach dark. The way it gets dark at the beach. There was enough light from the pier to see white caps as they moved on shore, what a treat, and the sky (eastern) seemed clear but with just one distinct light, probably a planet, I assumed, just to the left of the patio door frame. I didn’t think it was the North Star, but my eyes were drawn to that one bright light on the vast dark sky, and I held onto it as if it were my North Star. How many times I looked out before I fell asleep. And every time I woke during the night, I looked out at the waves and then up to the star. I looked to see if it had moved. Was it closer to the door frame? Did it get to the right of the door frame? It was the dearest, most precious thing to me at the moment. I didn’t understand, but I knew, without figuring it out, how precious it was to me. It was as if that star was there for me.
I had things that were worrying me that night, and the light, whether it was a star or planet, was wonderful and stayed with me as I navigated an anxious state of mind. Whatever troubles were haunting me through the night and the previous and the following day, whatever troubles were part of my life, I had that star. I wish I could see it every night from my bed. I wish I could open my eyes in the middle of the night, like I did that night, and take in the wonder of that little bright light and it would give me peace enough to return to sleep.
I need to get to bed. It’s late and way too cold to go outside and look for stars. I can pull the curtains aside and see the skies outside the window are cloudy gray, too gray behind the treetops to see any stars. Even my bright star in the west. When I wake in the morning, it will be past the time for stars. The clouds scatter and the morning sun shines bright these days on criss-cross footprints and left-over snow, and sweet little birds hop about and peck at wintry white icy crystals.
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Like flickering starlight, beautiful words from songwriters call and inspire:
“In the darkness of my night,
In the brightness of my day.” [Bob Dylan, Girl from the North country]
Out of Dylan’s prolific wording and wonderful imagery, these simple words have called to me for years, and it was inevitable one day I’d write about the darkness of night and the brightness of day.
Kris Kristofferson repeating Bob Dylan’s description of Johnny Cash: “Johnny was and is the North Star, you could guide your ship by him.”
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They may not be used elsewhere or reblogged.
counsel from the 60s
2025. Things I want to do. Things I need to do. I need to go outside late at night and see stars on the dark sky behind the treetops, behind my favorite treetops. This is something I can do. I know this is something I can still do, regardless of my bad knees. I can sit, and look up. I want to look up and see the snowflakes falling at me from above.
I want to walk down the snowy street and see if Christmas wreaths are still hanging in the windows on that house on the corner. I didn’t see the tree in the window this year like it’s always been these last years. And I want to see the wreaths, at least.
I need to see if my place in the shade is still there. I need it to be there. I can’t even say how much I need it to be there. I need to walk down by the creek where the dragonflies hang over the water in July and glisten in the late day sun. I need to go to that place where I saw a little bit of heaven…once.
You can anticipate this one. Words we’ve all been carrying around in our heads since 1969/70, as if the Rolling Stones are where we want to go for words to live by. You can’t always get what you want, honey, you can’t always get what you want. You can’t always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, you just might find you get what you need. [From the Rolling Stones album, Let It Bleed, 1969.]
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All photos and images here are my own.
They may not be used elsewhere or reblogged.
etikser 