autumn | The Direction of Intention

Mark It [on KS Friday]

Posted on September 13, 2019 by davidrobinsoncreative

millneck fall songbox copy

I am marking the coming of fall. Each day on our walk I see a bit more red, yellow and burnt orange. A week ago I pulled on a sweatshirt. There was a chill in the air that penetrated the afternoon sun.

The fall brings a sweet melancholy, an inward look. We are moving slower on our walks. We can see deeper into the woods. The deer are everywhere. The apples are down. Last night at dinner, Steve had a fire in the stove. I sat beside it and let the warmth find my bones.

It is my favorite time of year. We make soup with friends. The air sharpens. I yearn for my studio. I write really bad poetry. I remember vivid yellow quaking aspen leaves. I secretly look forward to raking the front yard.

Tradition awakens with the harvest. The fruit and leaves have had their time, now the root gets its nourishment. Reaching down. Letting go. The wind encourages the resistant to release. It’s this deep ritual of return that beckons in Kerri’s Millneck Fall.

MILLNECK FALL on the album BLUEPRINT FOR MY SOUL is available on iTunes & CDBaby

read kerri’s blog post about MILLNECK FALL

millneck fall/blueprint for my soul ©️ 1997 kerri sherwood

Filed under: KS Friday, Pattern, Uncategorized | Tagged: autumn, blueprint for my soul, david robinson, davidrobinsoncreative.com, fall, harvest, Kerri Sherwood, kerri sherwood itunes, kerrianddavid.com, kerrisherwood.com, melancholy, millneck, millneck fall, root, soup, traditions | Leave a comment »

Reach [on Two Artists Tuesday]

Posted on September 11, 2018 by davidrobinsoncreative

REACH copy

Someone snapped their fingers and it is fall. Less than a week ago we skirted the Des Plains river trail, hugging the shade. We’d underestimated the intensity of the heat-humidity combination punch. “Are you dying?” Kerri asked. I nodded my head, too hot to answer. This morning, the air is cool and we are pulling out our flannel shirts.

With fall comes a sweet melancholy that usually creeps in slowly but this year, absent of any transition, I awoke fully awash in the seasonal sorrows. It is, oddly, like a warm blanket. An old friend that calls, “Remember me?”

Kerri tells me this melancholy is the feeling of time passing. It is the season of standing still and remembering. It is a reach to the past when the past feels like the autumn sun on your face. Turning toward the warmth, eyes closed, basking.

Haven’t you heard your elders say that the older you get the faster time moves? This morning, pulling my flannel shirt around me, I know that it is true. Time races. Time is relative to “the long body,” the entire span of a lifetime. With so much time behind me, so many memories, the road traveled seems to have passed in a blink. Life happens in the blink of an eye.

There’s no better reason to stand still, eyes closed, and reach for the sun as its rays reach for me.