I have owned several names and loved several rivers. The ocean when its cold and the waves are breaking across a rocky shore, I love that also. And I love the excitement of a running child, the tenacity of a hungry squirrel, and the lusty beauty of a low and full moon; I love them all. I do. My list of things to love is a long one, and as the years pass I still add to it. Friend, this is not a bad life.
A summer afternoon. Late, almost evening. Still. Quiet. The dove of my heart breaks into song, and I open my chest to release her. This lovely dove only flies as far as the pines across the street, where she chooses a branch to land upon, sits, and then continues to sing. Look at me; my heart is a singing dove on a summer day.
I think we are in the midst of this period where we are committing this suicide on the planet and everybody is just using up all of our natural resources like a bunch of insane people. That's what I worry about more than I worry about jazz.
CLICK HERE for the marvelous writing of Ren Powell.
CLICK HERE for ‘That drop of blood is my death warrant’: Keats and the poetry of suffering.
Best Wishes, y'all.