Monday Morning Musings:
“Now I will do nothing but listen,
To accrue what I hear into this song, to let sounds contribute
toward it.I hear bravuras of birds, bustle of growing wheat, gossip of flames,
clack of sticks cooking my meals,I hear the sound I love, the sound of the human voice,
I hear all sounds running together, combined, fused or following,”
–From Walt Whitman, Song of Myself
Beneath every cloud
watch this song bloom–
it is bright sun, wild wind,
moon murmuring peace–
ancient cycles breathe color and bloom
We gather in a flurry of hugs and kisses,
wings outspread,
bright with color,
like tropical birds
cooing and chattering
instead of trills or caws,
I hear the sound I love,
the sound of human voices
the sound of people I love
it is a moment to remember,
my mother’s 95th birthday brunch.
We celebrate with food and drinks
in a courtyard room,
doors open to a day of August beauty
we talk and laugh
(the sound of voices)
take photos
(the sound of groans and laughter)
we sing happy birthday
(the sound of music)
and eat the cake my daughter has baked and decorated
Afterward, we take my mother home
she comments on the length of my daughters’ dresses
and I laugh that she who is nearly blind can see this
and the “designs” on one daughter’s arms
We talk about art–
her famous artist cousin, Abe Hankins,
she points out his work on her walls,
he lived with her family for a time
and taught my teenage mother dances,
he had lived in Paris and brought French style and flair,
he wasn’t a starving artist because his wife supported him
(or so my mother says)
one daughter is enchanted by a photo of my mom with her cousins
when they were all young
my mother tries to remember a hospital she was in
when she a little girl with diphtheria
“well, it was ninety years ago,” she says
no sound of planes in the sky when she was young
no telephone in her house
parents who traveled by ship across a sea to live here
never to see their homeland again
war and peace
sounds of life and sounds of silence
fuse, follow, ancient cycle
breathe in
breathe out
we open presents,
more art,
this time from one daughter
a poem and cookies from me
all sounds running together
stemming, streaming from hearts full of love
We go home, change into PJs
eat again and watch TV
my sisters text me and my daughters–
“Can you believe I’m eating again?”
commenting on how my mom has–
well, her own sense of reality, sometimes
voices in our heads, voices on the screen
fusing together
time for dreams
The next morning, I wake to birdsong
it seems effortless and amazing
but what do I know?
bravura display, to my human ears
I go for a walk
listening to Hamilton
and almost dancing to the riverside
Sunday morning sunshine,
a little breeze
the end of summer,
autumn is on the way,
another cycle of the seasons,
the cicadas hum
the geese march, swim, fly, and honk
the flowers are blooming
(And I’m not throwing away my shot.)
all the sounds running together, combined—
birds and Broadway
In the afternoon, we go to a wine festival
taste wines
sample foods
eat the cheese and enjoy the day
enjoy each other
ancient cycles
time-bound and timeless
the sounds I love running together,
combined, fused or following,
the sound of nature
the song of myself
the song of all of us
echoing in my heart
blossoming
The Oracle seemed in tune with my weekend. We celebrated my mom’s brunch at Jerry’s Bar in Philadelphia, and we went to the Riverwinds Wine Festival in West Deptford, NJ.
A special shout out to Ken of Rivrvlogr of writes poetry, especially haiku and tanka, of nature and current events, and Robin of Witlessdatingafterfifty who takes photographs of her family and area of Ohio and write book reviews in verse. I truly appreciated that they both spent time going through my past blog posts yesterday. Check out their blogs!
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