Autumn

Autumn

Sunday, April 13, 2014

Sunday Ramble

Often when I sit to write the words fail me. I've much to say stuck away in storage but those ideas have yet to ripen, mature, thus useless. So, I listen, and wait. It'll nudge me when ready.

It's best if I just sit and listen..and record the sounds....

Mockingbirds, the steady tick of the tide clock, the old emerald windchimes dance on the breeze.

(Ping, fodder.)

The old emerald wind chimes sing as if tuned by a great pianist, notes lost to my musical ignorance. The emerald windchimes came to me long ago from a different life.

The chimes were removed from a small cardboard box and placed on a hook from the roof line of an old Victorian home built high above a cold rocky creek which fed Hammersley Inlet. From that night forward they have gentled the pathway into my dreams. Their metallic wind forced dance came and went with seasonal regularity, always there throughout the last forty years of my life.

Lost within its strings and tubes and its emerald paddle are the shadows of death, divorce, hardships and hope. Also recorded are the whispers of joy and smiles. Horrible sadness lurks within its depths, too.

Often I've repaired the emerald windchime. It hates hard savage winds. After proper repair her songs return as newly minted, and continues to record my life.


The day will arrive when I fade into the shadows of time. Upon my drift into darkness I hope a thoughtful soul continues to repair her dropped tubes and reties the odd broken string. Then to nudge her paddle and play one last tune to my memory.

*****

It's time.  I need to slip on the boots and fire the mower and cut the grass and weeds, after I take a basket and clean the yard of pine cones and broken limbs and rake a bushel of oak leaves. The gutters also need attention. We have a bed of shrubs gone wild...should make for two hours of sweat. Bet I stir at least two wasp attacks.

I'll procrastinate until her return from church. If I'm lucky she'll ask to attend another Sunday movie which will give me all the excuse I'll need to avoid the awful chore. I've grown to hate yard work. Its tedious and returns little in value, other than a tidy lawn. If grass cuttings were gleaned as a food source I'd be far more willing to bust my butt. As it stands the waste is nothing more than compost material.

Speaking of which, it's high time I plant a bed of herbs. A few herbs love compost, other just plain old sand. My compost barrel, a contraption which requires I turn a handle and rotate the drum twice to three times weekly, works very well yet has stood silent and still for the last few years. It's paint has faded to dull green. Blame Obama. The result of a six day work week is a very sad forlorn garden.

Last week, since it's Spring, the love of my life stepped forth and cleaned a flower bed. She then discovered my stack of walkway bricks - a huge neatly organized pile of half-inch dark brown brick.  She took a wheel barrow and gave it a heavy load. Wheeled the ton of baked earth to the east side of our home and proceeded to border the bed with the brick. That evening she downed a bottle of Advil. Spring's a bitch.

But, every cloud has a silver lining. She'll forget the newly planted flower bed with its neatly arranged brown brick border. When she has fully forgotten, I'll step forward with my herbs. It'll make a fine garden.

Just you wait and see...

Stephen






24 comments:

  1. I was reading a blog this morning, with a photo of a DC-3. The comments were of the unmistakable sound of the rotary engines.

    For a moment, I was 8 years old, laying in the yard and enjoying a wonderful Spring day.

    As the clouds passed overhead, I could hear the deep drone of a cargo plane; almost too far away; a shiny spot in the deep blue sky.

    I watched for a moment, then went on with my task of doing nothing but relishing the freedom from the cold.

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  2. i have a million different things to say in response to this post...i know, surprising eh? but i will just leave it at this: my goodness you have a way with writing and evoking melancholy thoughts...as well as a way of writing about how you can get yourself out of chores and stealing your Sweet Wife's new garden - bahahahahah! yer awesome buddy! the sad thing is - you know it - bahhaahahah!

    your friend,
    kymber

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    1. Blah....I know, nothing....

      Thank you, Sweet One.

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  3. Wind chimes - beautiful and haunting all at the same time.

    In a week or so I hope to transform my kitchen window sill into an herb garden of sorts. Past gardens were devoted to feeding four hungry kids. This little windowsill garden is just for me.

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    1. Her flowers will make nice companions to my kitchen herbs. Window sills make for a fine spot to grow Basil.

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  4. I cannot sleep to the sound of wind chimes. Plus, the raucous ones are not soothing. I have some little tinkly ones hanging on my swing. they are just right, soft, and far from my bedroom. Herbs and flowers can co-exist, right? Good piece of writing.

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  5. How deftly you move from 'haunting' to 'happy' . . . and "ornery'.
    The wind chime account found me particularly vulnerable today. Spring can be haunting. For some reason - for me - particularly so this year.
    Wish I could hear that melody that carries so much for you.

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    1. As do I, dear friend....the chime was tuned by an older hippy back in the day. It reminds me of an old outdoor bookstall in Ojai, California and a cafe that made and served the best fist sized oatmeal cookies west of the Divide. Thanks, my sweet friend.

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  6. Arrrrrgh I just mowed Friday and it already looks like it is going to need it again. I despise mowing the lawn, except for the grass clippings I use as mulch anyway but this time of year it grows so fast.

    Don't forget to blame the Obummer voters just as much :)

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    1. One sure truth about Florida and its heat and moisture...it will grow grass. I do indeed blame the Obummer voters....

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  7. Wordsworth wrote "I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud," the lyrical poem the describes the "host of Golden Daffodils" two years after he saw them. His sister Dorothy had written of the walk they took when they saw the daffodils. Wordsworth did not come home and write about what he saw that day. It seemed sometimes his ideas had to "simmer" before the written word could come forth. Maybe you just need to let ideas simmer and then wring the words from them.

    You write well, so I am sure that the words will emerge from the emotions and thoughts.

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    1. I relate very well to Wordsworth, although without his talent. I've dozens of piece lost in my mind...but they must ripen before a yield is given.

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  8. If you have your own place, it seems like you always have to work on it. I know I never get finished here. Every day it's something. Sometimes I enjoy working on the property, and sometimes I just don't feel like it but I have to anyway. At least you get a little privacy and a little control when you have your own place though.

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    1. Ever taken notice of an abandoned home....how it quickly decays.

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  9. It is amazing how something as simple as wind chimes can evoke such amazing memories. But I didn't like your post about the yard work and flower bed.... it only reminded me of the sorry state of mine and your Sweet Wife has put me to shame ;-) Plant those herbs right in there with the flowers, they'll both grow nicely together.

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    1. I've always been freaky that way...smells, sound, the glitter of a piece of glass will instantly flash back a memory. I shall plant those herbs, if time allows. Thanks, my friend.

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  10. :-) It's all about working 'together'... :-) And wind chimes do provide a background to many of our lives...

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  11. I have many windchimes. I buy a new one whenever a loved one or friend dies. Even for my pets. I choose them with care, trying to match the chimes with their personality. When I hear one, I think of that person. Luckily we have no neighbors and chimes are all over the property. Some sing in baritone voices and some are soprano and everything in between. In a breeze they are soothing, but when the wind really blows....watch out. I love the Gentle Spirits brand.

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    1. I've six in need of repair...shames me. I'll keep an eye out for the brand. Thanks, my lovely friend.

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  12. I had some wind chimes at the lake in Florida. The mason bees filled them up. I guess they likes the sound. Which was more of a clunk after that. I didn't disturb them.

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    1. Mason bees drill my deck. I smile.

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