I won't even begin to talk about my August and September. Saying that I am in transition is an understatement. September was marginally better than my August, but it also brought its storms and droughts.
That said, the music is flowing and I am leaving the summer of 2012 behind with all it had to teach me. I have also been journaling, rather faithfully, and writing down my dreams – most of them nightmares for the past two weeks, but still. There have been some interesting and less jarring ones, too.
My new site was delayed, but thanks to lovely accomplices, it is poised to launch now, as is the Beatrix story with its map.
One of the things I learned – again – is how important it is to be able to bend, flow, laugh and persevere. A perseverance of a kind that is not inflexible and can be shattered like a slab of stone, but more like water, which keeps on trickling and eventually wears away the hardest surfaces.
Today I am leaving for a couple of days, to spend some time looking at the vines, grasses and a lake under a full Harvest Moon and contemplating October, where I will do another local performance residency at the Witzend and keep on building.
And here is a song I dedicate to October. It is not spring and it is not March, but its lyrics speak to me now, so why not? I hope to keep its spirit throughout the month.
Waters of March
A stick, a stone, it's the end of the road
It's the rest of a stump, it's a little alone
It's a sliver of glass, it is life, it's the sun
It is night, it is death, it's a trap, it's a gun
The oak when it blooms, a fox in the brush
The knot in the wood, the song of a thrush
The wood of the wind, a cliff, a fall
A scratch, a lump, it is nothing at all
It's the wind blowing free, it's the end of the slope
It's a beam, it's a void, it's a hunch, it's a hope
And the river bank talks of the waters of March
It's the end of the strain, It's the joy in your heart
The foot, the ground, the flesh and the bone
The beat of the road, a slingshot's stone
A truckload of bricks in the soft morning light
A shot of a gun in the dead of the night
A mile, a must, a thrust, a bump,
It's a girl, it's a rhyme, it's a cold, it's the mumps
.
The plan of the house, the body in bed
And the car that got stuck, it's the mud, it's the mud
A float, a drift, a flight, a wing
A hawk, a quail, oh, the promise of spring
And the river bank talks of the waters of March
It's the promise of life, it's the joy in your heart (repeat)
A point, a grain, a bee, a bite
A blink, a buzzard, a sudden stroke of night
A pin, a needle, a sting, a pain
A snail, a riddle, a wasp, a stain
A snake, a stick, it is John, it is Joe
A fish, a flash, a silvery glow
The bed of the well, the end of the line
The dismay on the face, it's a loss, it's a find
A spear, a spike, a point, a nail
A drip, drip, drip, drop, the end of the day
And the river bank talks of the waters of March
It's the promise of life in your heart, in your heart (repeat)
,the end of the road,a little alone
A sliver of glass, a life, the sun
A knife, a death, the end of the run
And the river bank talks of the waters of March
It's the promise of life, it's the joy in your heart
And the river bank talks of the waters of March
It's the promise of life, it's the joy in your heart
The waters of March,
And the river bank talks of the waters of March
It's the promise of life, it's the joy in your heart
Read more: http://artists.letssingit.com/basia-lyrics-waters-of-march-px4dctn#ixzz27mwDLkxe
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