Listen to the Silence

Sometimes we are surrounded by beauty and don't see it.

I'm in a weeds phase. Don't ask. I don't know. Maybe it is because the field where I sit and eat my lunch is filled with such a variety. The sound of the grasses rustling in the breeze float along the top of the sun's heat on my skin. The insects buzz from flower to flower, and a Stellar's Jay screeches in the distance.

I admire the beauty of the feathery design, bask in the genius it took to make just this one plant. Look at it.

I mean, look at it as if it will never appear in your yard. Isn't it beautiful?

It looks like a mid-summer's snowflake. A thing of exquisite,

delicate beauty.

And then there are the colors. Those white flowers on top, I would have sworn were white and green. But below, close up, the colors are amazing. How many colors would I need if I were to get out an easel and canvas?

How lucky I am to be surrounded by such lovely perfection.

Perhaps I should be working on revisions.

Gimme Some Weeds

My lunch-time hangout

Summertime, and the weeds are high. Lots of weeds. An entire acre of weeds. And I'm tired of dealing with them. And speaking of weed, this weekend I went to "One Night With Janis Joplin" at Portland Center Stage's Main Stage in the Gerding Theater at the Armory, in Portland. It is a musical about the influences of blues and show-tunes in Janis Joplin's life which shaped her career. As I sat in the 4th row, trying to decide whether to use the little earplugs they handed out, I noticed most of the heads bopping to Try (Just a Little Bit Harder) and, Me and Bobby McGee, were gray. I studied the audience and realized almost everyone was in their fifties and sixties. Instead of the sweet, pungent odor one would normally associate with a Janis Joplin concert, there was the distinct aroma of BenGay and Halls Mentho-Lyptus.

When did I become old?

What's worse, I've been humming "Summertime" and I'm not sure if it is Joplin's version or the one from Porgy and Bess. How old am I?

And then at lunch time today, at my favorite spot where the Canada Geese hang out during early spring and late fall, a bee buzzed around some beautiful weeds. These weeds were so beautiful, it was all I could do not to jump out and pick one. Why don't I ever have beautiful weeds? Gimme weeds like this and I'd be okay with them. But all I get are thistle, ragwort, and blackberries, mixed in with grass and dandelions.

Why are the weeds in someone else's yard more beautiful?

So, when I came home today, I looked at my own weeds. Ugly. What is up with that? I'm hiring a man with a tractor and a brush hog, as soon as I can get him here. Mow everything to the ground, I'll say.

And then where will Bambi hide?

And maybe, while the tractor is putt-putting along, I'll stand in my yard and sing Fantasia Barrino's version of "Summertime."

Are they talking to me?

This week was the semi-annual donation drive for Portland's listener-supported classical music station. Now, I have to admit, I don't listen to the station all the time. Sometimes I listen to an "easy rock" station, and sometimes to NPR, and other times to the jazz station. Most of the time, I listen to my own CDs. So, when I picked my way through traffic and heard the person on the radio say "we need your donation," I didn't really pay that much attention. I just put on my blinker and eased into the other lane.

"We need your donation. Yours. I'm talking to you."

I pulled into the center divide lane, to make a left turn, and thought, "Yeah, sure. You mean me. Of all the people in the Portland Metro area, you mean me. Right. Uh huh."

"Pick up the phone and call us. Yes, you in the Subaru."

Huh?

My eyes widened and I glanced in my rear view mirror before making a sweep of all the cars around me. None of them said "Classical Music Station" on them, but they were obviously watching me, pointing at me, demanding I call. They knew I hadn't done so yet.

It was eerie.

Did I call? Um...no. They didn't say sky blue Subaru, right? Maybe in six months if they point me out again, maybe. Maybe. If you'd like to make a donation on my behalf, however, that would be a very nice thing to do. Go to allclassical.org. I appreciate it.

In the meantime, I've got to get all the weeds cut down and I need all my money to buy more string for my weed-eater. It is still a jungle in my yard.

Concentrating on Writing

Some days I find it difficult to focus on my writing.

Hobiecat, purring