As is each day.
Today, the Cows of the Morning Commute were out. Rubbing, pressing, pushing against the post. The post of the sign to sell their land. The post offering opportunity. The post offering loss.
The sun is crisp, the air is light, the life in the leaves sparkles.
The flooding fields by the single duck’s pond shimmer in the dew. There’s a man by a goal post. He’s… He’s… What is he…
He’s playing the trombone. In the light, crisp, sparkling air, hundreds of feet under where the highways meet, a man is playing a trombone.
I long to hear his tune.
Some wonderful days on this earth! Especially when cows protest at signswhen cows
Starting again: . . .at signs endangering their space and when music rises from under highways.
Reminds me of a photograph I saw once about this guy, whom I’ve heard in concert a couple of times since: “In 1959, feeling pressured by the unexpected swiftness of his rise to fame, [Sonny] Rollins took a three-year hiatus to focus on perfecting his craft. A resident of the Lower East Side of Manhattan with no private space to practice, he took his saxophone up to the Williamsburg Bridge to practice alone: “I would be up there 15 or 16 hours at a time spring, summer, fall and winter” (wiki)
Isn’t it awe-inspiring to think on such souls existing?
Reblogged this on albits and commented:
Eyes from Texas on the Ides of March
Awww, shucks. Thanks!
This time of year I am very jealous of the warmer garden zones! My garden is mud and brown and Mother Natures drags her feet to the zone 4 part of the country!
I would love to extend an invitation to you to be a Guest Blogger at the garden web site that I work for.
If you would at all be interested and would just like to take a look at the information and writer guidelines I would love to send them to you.
Shoot me an email at email@example.com
Thanks for you time and always for your Blog!
I am envious of your zone come July and August! That’s when we are brown and crispy here.
I am beyond honored by your invitation. I’ll email you now.