On The Morning Breeze [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

The first hint of fall was in the air this morning. Is it a scent or something I feel riding on the breeze? I’m not sure. Maybe both. I stood at the door and breathed it in. It is like the return of a favorite friend.

I’ve been waiting for this moment. The plumes on the grasses changed color a few weeks ago – a sure sign of autumn approaching. The vine coiling around the rocks by the pond has already passed through crimson and yellow to brittle brown, a transformation that usually happens later in September. Breck-the-aspen-tree, stressed by all the rain we’ve recently experienced, is not yet changing. She must wonder if she’s been transplanted to a rainforest. I imagine she refuses to put on her fall color until she’s had a chance to wear her finest summer wardrobe. The bees are out in force and a little aggressive, a sign of summer’s end.

I’ve been meditating on my conversation with Judy. We talked about life’s changes. The hot fire that tests us and transforms us when we finally understand that we must let go of who we think we are. “Either I die or this dies and I’m not going to die!” she said, laughing the laugh of someone who has been forged in fire, someone who has let go of seasons past and moved with nature into the surprising new.

Standing at the backdoor, feeling autumn to my bones, I felt the ash of the fire all the way to my core.

Beyond the dictionary definition, I am learning about resilience. Resilience is not a rigid bulwark. It is an open hand. Breck-the-aspen-tree bending with the wind. New sprouts arising through the ashes after the forest fire. It is autumn announcing its arrival on the morning breeze.

read Kerri’s blogpost about PLUMES

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Emerge Changed [on KS Friday]

This moment “is the place of pilgrimage to which I am a pilgrim.” Paul Murray

Columbus’ journey into dementia has reminded me once again that time is not a linear thing. We cycle as surely as the tides, the seasons, the days that move into night and back again. Each and every moment a pilgrimage, as poet Paul Murray writes, in which we are both pilgrim and the target of our pilgrimage. We journey to discover ourselves. As Columbus moves deeper into his world, I know the separation, the distance from him that I experience is necessary. He must walk alone into this season of his pilgrimage.

Walking the snowy trail a few days ago I asked Kerri about the experience of losing her father, I asked if it necessitated a life review. She told me that, when she thinks of her dad, she is filled with the impression of who he was; she rarely thinks or even remembers events. She viscerally feels his love. She knows his spirit. “I never think about his achievements or how much money he made – all the stuff we get lost in,” she said, “but I fully remember who he was.”

We are in transition. All jobs lost. Broken wrists challenging artistry as it was. Every day it begs us to consider who we are within our circumstance. Who are we if we are no longer that? “Our spirits are high. We take one day at a time,” I just wrote in a letter. It’s true. That is who we are. That, at this present moment, is all we are. Pilgrims walking.

I am, like my dad, in a “winter” in the cycle of time. He pulls in. I am also pulling in. To rest. To reflect. To rejuvenate. Pilgrim and pilgrimage, both. Each moment an unbroken circle. Each moment in transition. The old shell is too small. Someday, it will of necessity split. Columbus will emerge changed into his new world. I will emerge changed into mine.

in transition/released from the heart is available on iTunes

read Kerri’s blog post about IN TRANSITION

in transition/released from the heart ©️ 1995 kerri sherwood

Grow More Beautiful [on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

Barney copy

Barney is growing more beautiful with each passing year. New colors emerge. His wood splinters and new patterns play across his keys. The laminate that once served as skin is loose, wrinkled and twisting.

He was once forgotten.  Years ago, someone thought it was a good idea to store him next to the boiler in the basement of the church. He sat in the dark for decades. He provided a surface for loose tools. He stood in water more than once; the basement floods and the boiler breaks. Over time his soundboard was ruined. He was no longer useful according to his original purpose.

He was rediscovered. He was rolled into the light. It was determined that he was too broken to be fixed and he was scheduled to be taken away by the scrap man. It took some convincing but we talked the scrap man into bringing Barney to our house. He helped us roll Barney across the grass. He helped us lift him into his resting place.

Barney has been a fixture in our backyard for the past 4 years. Kerri played him on his first day here and he sounded pretty good. The next day his sound collapsed, his keys stuck; he let us know his time for giving voice was over. He is content in his silence.

Now, he rests. He weathers. He drinks in the sun and the snow and rain as the years cycle through. The plants grow up around him as he slowly sinks into them. We watch and note his changes, the pieces falling off, the chipmunks who live beneath his lid. The purples and ochres and deep rich blues that were hiding beneath the laminate have surfaced. The changing weather, the long road of his life, has teased them to the top.

He quite simply grows more and more beautiful. We think that was his purpose all along.

 

read Kerri’s blog post about BARNEY

 

cropped head kiss website copy