“What is left of summer? This year’s show is furtive, extravagant, and beautiful. I applaud the determination of those still aching to produce. I count myself among them. But pushing, and over-achieving has its limits. I hit a few benchmarks this summer, when called upon to “perform as promised”. We are not circus dogs, thankfully. We must reign in our enthusiasm, when it is misaligned: motivated by ego, money, or prestige. The abundance of previous displays, must be pushed aside, to allow for a more honest representation of what living is, including sickness and dying, and all states in between. I feel grateful for my surges of strength, and capability. The world around me is complex, and vibrant. Where I can connect to it, I do. When I’m spent, I admit, I’m ready to give up on modern society. Something about it just doesn’t feel right, in terms of who always seems left to pull up the rear. But, as with all compassionate beings, I’ll do my best, even when all my circuits are fried. To stay useful, and engaged. The unfettered wild plants, my companions on all drives across the state, fill me with hope. Their reliability, and flawless golden, purple and sensuous whites, give a boost, and a reason, to keep things running. Not to mention the apples, plums, and blueberries. It’s been a bumper crop year, up on the mountain. I can perhaps excuse all the misunderstandings, or faux-crises, invented by others, that have caused stress in my sphere. In the end, I’m always more drawn to the landings we’ve made. We take time, at each general store, to hone in on what we’re grateful for. The large empty spaces, for parking; the unencumbered fly ins, for coffee, or a sandwich, or a shitty pastry, or local newspaper ... brief encounters with heavy equipment operators, or tourists, or a cashier ... all of which, we drink in. We do live within driving range. There’s no reason to be coy with neighboring towns, is there? The towns where I’ve played, in band stands, and in parks, in pubs and concert halls; the places where my children have frolicked and been schooled.; and all the abandoned roads and woods in between. Adding up our transits, from here, to there, over gaps, and in snow squalls, or floods, maybe its just been one journey, after all.”
