beautiful

i was going to write something witty and and a bit silly.  i was planning on writing about love and heart break.  i was planning on writing about age.  but now i just sit and and type for no reason really what so ever.  my hope is that something comes out of it, but from the looks of it, nothing is going to happen.  so i sit.  i sit and think of my weekend, pondering about family that we have not hugged for a while, thinking of possible futures that are all in the hands of the one who brought this weekend together.  but again, I have nothing.  

i wanted to write about music, how a band named after such a tough city can sweep me off my feet at a mere touch of the ivorys, or how the voices of jazz singers bring relaxation to the bones tired from the day.  

nothing.  nothing is coming to mind.  family, music, and nothing but these pitiful few words.  maybe it is because my scribble is nothing in comparison to words so beautiful they could only have been inspired by the one who brings the weekends and days and clouds and sun and smiles and tears.  i read this today: 

Wisdom has built her house

she has carved out its seen pillars

she has prepared her meat

she has prepared her wine

she also has arranged her table

she has sent out her female servants

she calls out on the highest places of the city

whoever is naive, let him turn in here

she says to those who lack understanding

come eat some of my food

and drink some of the wine I have mixed

abandon your foolish ways so that you may live

and proceed in the way of understanding.

beautiful.

Day Dreaming

She gazes out the window of her loft.  Her eyes slowly soaking in the world in her back yard.  The window is cracked just a bit so she can smell the flowers wafting into her warm bedroom.  She watches birds chirp and chase each other all over the the grass while two large squirrels tackle and squabble and play in the large tree outside her window.  

She is waiting.  She is waiting for a prince to arrive at the eve of her small window calling her in a calm, strong but tender voice.  The thought of her jumping out her bay window onto the back of his white steed and having him whisk her away through the evening sunset was running through her mind. 

Many years go by and she sits and thinks back to those days.  She ponders if things would have been different.  If her life would have been more.  Then she re-envisions what has happened and realizes she is happy:

She gazes out the window of her loft.  Her eyes slowly soaking in the world in the front yard.  The window is cracked just a bit so she can smell the flowers and exhaust wafting into her warm living room.  She watches two birds chirp and chase each other all over the road while two large squirrels dig into her flower pots.  She then proceeds to slap her hands together to shoo the animals out of her garden.  She refocuses and waits....waits for her prince to arrive at the door step to call her in his slightly goofy, yet sensitive voice.  She just smiles and thanks God she is where she is.

You maybe right, I maybe crazy.....

It has been a while since I have typed on this site, so I thought it would be a good thing to do.  My only reason for typing tonight is the fact that it is not snowing.  I know that my blogs are few and far between, and when I DO type, snow or weather seem to play a part.  But the weather does something to ones soul.  It can make one ponder why they live...it can turn ones mood from angry to pure joy.    

Since winter, we have had dreadful weather.  Not dreadful like tsunamis or tornados or hurricanes or anything of that catastrophe, but more just a dreary gray that seems to linger. The ground is damp.  Damp like the pictures of London's streets, but without the charm of those photographs.  It is a dampness that seeps into your bones and chills them til your toes have no remembrance of what warmth is.  Yet I tend to enjoy it.  It brings on a certain melancholy that could do one of two things; make you depressed and wishing for more sadness, or make you dream.  I feel it is the latter I am doing tonight.  

I am dreaming  of music.  Playing in a small smokey bar ( we don't have those anymore because of smoking bans, but it adds ambiance to the dream so work with me please ) playing my acoustic with friends, singing songs about love and love lost.  Singing songs about the joy I have found.  Singing songs that people raise their pints in one accord because they know that what is being sung is from the heart and they feel it and cling to it.  

This may all sound like the piano man on acoustic guitar, and I apologize if it does, but the feelings that that song proclaims about the lives of people and why they come to a place like a warm pub on cold night intrigues me. But unlike the piano man, I just long to sit in a pub, with my guitar in my lap, on nights much like tonight, singing songs to people that may touch them and myself.  

Does the weather strike chords in you?  I am just curious.....