A Thousand Words……

Often…. moments are much bigger… or have a meaning…. a memory… which is forever a part of us… Words that were spoken… a shared smile…  a gift….  Some day… when I’m much older and these two have their own lives… I’ll sit on my porch and recall the countless  unforgettable days… 

 The little things that have no meaning to anyone else in the world, but that common bond between friends, family, and the cat….  It makes me wonder, often, what pictures the kids have in their memories…  It’s like writing my own eulogy and then living towards that end…. I’m certain to have mistakes and regrets accredited to attempts… but who doesn’t… or will not. 

I have set out on this trail…. against the wind and the rain…. learning, experiencing, trying to correct errors, make amends, rewrite my plans for tomorrow… I’ll have to answer for them… stand accountable….one day from my porch.. just as I’ll recall the days with Baker…. Belle….. Meanwhile, I have snapshots… moments of time… our time… I’ve been blessed…a lucky man.

Eleven Summers…..

Goethe described art as “frozen music.”  As we stepped across the rocks, skirted the boulders….. waded the creek….West, up into the ravine… deep, clear pool….bow and string…. I watched the members of today’s symphony scramble towards our destination. 

 

Ahead of me, an ensemble of young boys, girls and friends….  Celebrating day one of Baker’s birthday weekend…. Like the eclectic musicians that participate on Wednesday.. or Sunday pickins’….  All with their own style… interpretation….  Banjo, fiddle, mandolin …..  Laughing… talking… Baker is turning eleven.

 

The inviting, unseasonable breeze and cold mountain stream filtered the unnecessary stress of life… and I tried to focus on Baker’s voice… his music….. his rendition of eleven summers. His story thus far.. put to pen and pick… he must write alone some day.

 

There is no song like that of these children…. The music of those we love…  the maturing Stradivarius….and watching them all involuntarily gravitate towards a specific instrument, personality, temperament….. knowing that a sole violin makes a lonely cry without the accompaniment of the mandolin, banjo….and the individual style of other callous fingered musicians.  

Shouts and laughter ricocheted from the boulders… the sounds of children finding joy in their friendships…. I scanned the rock line above us.. Surely, dozens of angels, those responsible for each of these, relaxed in the cool shade…. entertained by this soulful sound and display….  Goethe was right in a sense.  We all look at beauty….our surroundings… our lives…. the gorge and trail… the hands that we hold and the eyes on which we look…and “see” music.  I pray that my son listens to the beautiful rhythm of his light steps…the tempo of his caring heart… memories and words….

 

Happy Birthday, Baker…