– Thought 1 –
Spring has come as a surprise, as winter was a surprise, and the rains of the past few days have cured the branches of their buds, the leaves unfurling themselves, gladly, green skin to the warm sun that followed when the clouds fled.
Leaves whispers to me: the garden is late.
I could turn the soil… but then, it would be an empty bed. With you, it would be a harvest plan.
I could sow seeds… but then, only plants would come up. If you were here, there’d be fruit instead.
– Thought 2 –
It is as surprising as spring, that we should involve ourselves in other than garden-tending. This business of American Crusades leads nowhere, our attention attracted by our own bickering. A certifiably noble cause calls the tilt of our lances, and off we charge, seemingly together, terribly alone, toward unlikely achievement; when all the while (in this very, very brief life of ours: yours, and mine) the best stallion’s charge may be the quiet one, kindness; and the best battlefield, one where no sword is planted, rather clean food for our children, and their children.
– Thought 3 –
The sun set some time ago, so it is irrelevant tonight whether I plant the garden for myself, or for you, or for us. Instead, I was drawn in to a melody line, an echo of Peter Gabriel, who himself was echoing Stephin Merritt of The Magnetic Fields who was the original author of the book of love. Well, there have been plenty of authors who borrowed from others, changed facts and figures, made notes in the margins, and signed their names to what had channelled through them: the best inspiration always passed around.
Merritt’s is a beautiful song, whose lyrics give you a pinch just when your mind is getting lazy, expecting a next line… that isn’t as expected.
– A Song –
The Book of Love
The book of love is long and boring
No one can lift the damn thing
It’s full of charts, and fact and figures
And instructions for dancing
And I —
I love it when you read to me
And you —
You can read me anything
The Book of Love has music in it
In fact, that’s where music comes from
Some of it is transcendental
Some of it’s just really dumb
But I —
I love it when you sing to me
And you —
You can sing me anything
The Book of Love is long and boring
And written very long ago
It’s full of flowers, and heart-shaped boxes
And things we’re all too young to know
But I —
I love it when you give me things
And you —
You ought to give me wedding rings
Yes I —
I love it when you give me things
And you —
You ought to give me wedding rings
You ought to give me
Wedding rings
“Romance Book” by KaroQuinn @ DeviantArt.com
– Thought 4 –
Ah, there is music everywhere: heart-warming to be part of it… like those leaves that the sun uncurls, or those seeds that lay dormant, waiting for warm attention to charm them skyward.
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