I’m musing about musing, bemused by my muse, how she drifts on slivers of silvered streams, and beams from between leaves, perceives before thought reaches me, the beauty of golden glow, the gilding of roofs and trees,
and hears the calls of all the birds in sky and river beach, each a part of something larger–
in the flutter of a wing, the creation of a storm or from a tiny wish, greater reveries born, as time circles round, what was future becomes past, the russet leaves fall, a pewter blanket shrouds the earth,
but buried deep among the roots, sleeping seeds dream of brighter and more beautiful things, of blue and green
of fuzzy chicks and spotted fawn, of dawn chorus, mockingbird, and robin song—
and now in blanket weather, cat on lap, with pen to paper, the muse whispers write of the luminous branches covered in jewels, and the ripples in the river, the blue reflected from above, and the way time pauses and stills when surrounded by love– and I say, yes, it does, and yes, I will.
Our older child and their wife are here for Thanksgiving. This is the first time we’ve seen them since before the pandemic. ❤️. I’m getting ready for Thanksgiving.
I dreamt my dad was visiting Boston, as was I. I knew it was a dream, but I was glad to see him, to know he didn’t die
completely. Death takes, but the mind recalls— at least in dreams. We wake to cry or sigh or laugh, but all
is part of life, like spring and fall— the cycle of the seasons, the folds of time–dream-me is not one age, clocks toll differently there, controlled
by mind, the shadows and the light.
Now, beneath a canopy of crimson, gold, and yellow-green I gaze up at the blue-gowned sky, foretold by orbit’s path and revolution, the unseen and the seen–
the beauty of frosted November mornings, despite the baring of the trees, the death of things, the ignoring of all warnings— see the gulls fly with scintillating wings
reflecting the glow, and letting it go?
This the balance, life and death– the cloth bag I took to my mother’s hangs on a chair waiting, I take a breath, hesitating
to make her death final and real. Crow caws beauty, evil, life and death—all are true, parts of a whole, a cycle, the real we feel, a sigh within, a heart-soar reaching for the endless blue.
I have been amazed this week by the beauty of nature. The glorious light of this time of year, even the frost is beautiful. Soon, everything will look barren and grey, so I’m enjoying this while I can. I’ve also been dismayed by how willing people are to embrace the haters and those who spread misinformation. People I know who “don’t believe in” masks voted for the baby Trumpty-Dumpties, who have already been called out for racist slurs. UGHHHHH! But on the bright side, I got to see friends this week—who definitely do NOT believe this nonsense.
And today, I went walking and talking with a friend. Then we had my homemade challah cinnamon toast and coffee and talked some more. Thus, the late post today. I will be back in a little while because I’m hosting Prosery on dVerse today.
Merril’s Movie/TV Club:
We watched and finished Maid (Netflix), inspired by Stephanie Land’s memoir. My husband and I both enjoyed it, although after the first episode, he looked at me and said something like, “well, that was uplifting.” But if you haven’t watched it, there are funny incidents, times of joy, and surreal moments—it’s not all bleak. I listened to an NPR interview with Stephanie Land that was done before the Netflix series. Here
We streamed a new movie, I Am Your Man (rental, Amazon Prime). It’s a German movie about an archeologist who agrees to evaluate an android who has been designed to be her perfect partner. It’s sort of a rom-com with a tiny touch of sci-fi, but also poignant– as it asks what we really want in a mate. Do we want perfection? And also, apparently Dan Stevens can do anything, even speak German. We both liked this movie a lot. Trailer here.
buttons, keys, a pearl earring summer leaves, the morning light that fades as the sun rises to its height.
Shadows that follow then disappear, like warm-weather fruits—till next year.
A battle, a war, a way of life from before when then was now, the shore
of future lay ahead, the dead were living, at least in your head.
Memories, a laugh, a song , the things you wished once to do with loved ones you once knew–
husband, father, child, wife, a beloved pet, a favorite toy— all the sorrow and the joy,
things that are lost –and sometimes found,
air, love, happiness, roots, connected deep underground.
October seems a month of both beauty and melancholy. The sun rises later and set earlier, but in-between there’s a beautiful glow. We’ve had fog, rain, amazing sunrises, warm days, cold days, and more and more falling colored leaves.
This week we took a brief trip to Hammonton, NJ to pick up some olive oil and balsamic vinegar I like. I also bought cannoli for myself and our daughter (my husband didn’t want one).
We attended a memorial service for my husband’s uncle in Mt. Holly. We went to the service, talked a bit to family members, but then left without eating, as we were not comfortable sitting in the basement room with a bunch of strangers who may or may not be vaccinated. One of the hymns sung was “Amazing Grace.”
Merril’s Movie Club: We streamed three movies this week, all very different, but perhaps sharing a common theme of loss: life, dreams, love, memory. Fever Dream (Netflix) is difficult to describe, as is the novel it’s based on that I read last year. But the title is an indication. I think I liked it more than my husband did. It has a dreamy and slightly unsettling air, with much of it a voice-over between a woman and a boy who is not her son. To give a lot of detail would spoil the movie. There’s a mystery and supernatural elements, and a magical realism feel. We watched The One I Love, a 2014 movie about a couple played by Mark Duplass and Elisabeth Moss go for a weekend getaway at the suggestion of their therapist (Ted Danson). What looks like a rom com movie slips into the surreal. Again, I won’t give any spoilers, but it was fun, unusual, and gives you something to talk about. Finally, we watched The Black Box, a scifi/horror movie from last year on Amazon. It’s about a father who has lost his memory after an accident. When he undergoes a new treatment, strange things happen. It’s a solid B movie—entertaining and enjoyable.
When water watches the pink sky, and time plays with rust and diamonds– in that moment the honeyed light sings with gathered breath of stars and beats an ancient and eternal rhythm.
Ask then— if dreams drift from above, to catch in moonglade, or sparkle like spoondrift–
and you beneath, embracing the blue ghosts that linger in the slow smile of dawn.
My poem from the Oracle. She always knows. This is a strange time of year–beautiful and melancholy. We’ve had some spectacular sunrises lately–this one is from today– but we’re supposed to get thunderstorms later today. Last night my sleep was disrupted by some sort of police activity going on–very unusual. We live in a quiet neighborhood. We have a memorial service to attend, as well.
I guess WP is changing things again–the preview button has options now.
These are liminal days, when twilight lingers as death drifts, in a falling russet leaf, and bee-buzzed blooms, purple and gold, wave farewell to cloud-nestled moon then reach for waking sun– who timidly, then finds her voice to sing away the grey.
These days of soft cat-paw-tread transform, eagle-sharp talons tear away the foggy gray, leaving crystal blue—
and there, white flowers grow, clinging to life on dead wood–
and we? Here, in this in-between– embracing ghosts and color– looking toward the stars, remembering they are part of us, and we of them, all–
see where the light shines through, then know, this is where the song begins and ends– re-formed, reprised, again and again.
October is such a transitional time of year here. One day grey, the next so bright. One day cool, then next summer-sticky. The leaves are turning, but we still have flowers. There are still too people getting sick and dying of COVID, and people who still refuse to get vaccinations or wear masks. I know WAY too many people who have pets who have died recently or are dying. My husband’s uncle died on Friday. It was not COVID, and he’s been sick for a long time and also suffering from dementia, so in the case, though still very sad, there’s a sense of relief that he and his family are no longer suffering.
Today began with a before dawn rejection e-mail. I hope that’s not the way the week’s going to go. It put me in a bad mood, but my morning walk raised my spirits, as it usually does. This week we watched Midnight Mass (Netflix). It’s horror, but not the super-gory type. There’s more talk than action, which doesn’t bother me, and it actually ends on a very Merril-like note. I liked it. We also watched a Danish mystery called The Chestnut Man (Netflix), another “Scandi-noir” show. We both liked it and got caught up in it. I guess kids making chestnut men is a thing in Denmark? It made me look up American chestnut trees. There are streets named Chestnut in almost every town around here, but it seems the millions of American chestnut trees were killed by a blight. One interesting fact I learned is that the blight does not kill the roots, so they still exist below ground, and there are chestnut trees that continue to sprout up and then die.
Ask if the moon sleeps as the sky turns rosy, and with languid tongue, licks black to blue– does she recall the after-ache of crashing birth, and dream the songs of a thousand stars?
Now, watch the cool cat breath rise with arched back over the river, curling into the morning air—
is this what you seek? Recall the beauty of this day— clothed in peach, pink, and blue– the chirp of sparrows, the rush of heron’s wing.
When I opened our back door this morning, there was the moon right in front of me. Then when I walked to the river, it was just so beautiful with the sun rising over the water. The world is full of terrible things and horrible people, but there is also such beauty in it. The Oracle knows and reminds me.
Nearly every day I find something in the natural world that astounds me with its beauty– a single wildflower, a shy, graceful deer, or a stunning cloudscape over the Delaware River. When I walk, usually early in the morning, I’m often filled with wonder—a sensation of body and mind. This morning, I almost didn’t walk because of the rain and thunder, but it stopped, and I went out to see the most incredible sky.
golden leaves glow against charcoal clouds they dance, fall in nature’s rhythm
This is for Kim’s prompt at dVerse, to write a haibun “about a time when you last watched stars, a storm, the sea, an animal, or something else in nature that left you with a sense of wonder or awe.”