“Many a summer cookout has been caught mid-swing this August, in dollops of rain. No shortage of hilarity here, a la “the best laid plans”. Yet a heaviness pervades the air, and as I move rocks to complete a much anticipated new patio, the labor of my arms, against my legs, against the earth, is keen. Nothing tangible is aching; nothing overt, too taxing, but the burden of my thoughts seems three-fold of regular. Maybe I’ve grown too aware. Between hummingbird sightings & glimpses of bear, lie the complicated pathways of humans. What I’ve said yes to, I’ve done my best to honor. Who I’ve silently pledged to help, and love, is a more confusing, and a constant place of daily reckoning. How I perceive myself, could use improvement. There is a literal forest all around me, and one within, with fewer obvious openings. I miss things I had, and I long for things I expected to have, almost in equal measure. And very reasonably, I think, I fill my days with short term goals, where I can see what I’ve built, as a coping mechanism. The walls, the gardens, the songs, the spaces of home, and constructs of safety. And there, beyond beauty, and miracles, and surprising revelation ... some fear still niggles in my nerves, like the tap-tap-tap of a chisel. I think of my friends to bring solace, while fretting about when the next opportunity will arise, to deepen the crevices, of enigma, and truth that still lie between us. I marvel at the heights to which my social awkwardness has risen, wondering when will it end. One friend is in London, flexing his skills into public performance, on a grander scale. Another friend sits at the bedside, of her dying, former partner. I find myself at the counter of a farm supply store, going out of business, buying road fabric, without really knowing what I’m doing. The chaos of the interaction with the store manager, is almost beyond what I can tolerate, although the patience of Job, is something I’ve spent a lifetime cultivating. I’ve always operated from the philosophy of acting as if, until I truly become competent. What other way is there for me? I came out of the box, with next to nothing that I could relate to, as a reference point, besides music. But here I am, planning ditch work, and fruit tree management, and driveway construction, as if I was born to it. I wasn’t. I just needed a job I could relate to, with an introvert’s temperament, artistic sensibility and a solid body. Since music has never paid my bills. But today, I’m structuring something, to pass on to my family and whoever comes after. Music may be considered a legacy of hope, and inspiration, as may be these stone steps, and whimsical, elegant, gardens, designed for generations to come, and a future more bent on peace, than indifference, or wrongheaded complacency.”
