Out of the Cradle Endlessly Rocking
Out of the cradle endlessly rocking,
Out of the mocking-bird’s throat, the musical shuttle,
Out of the Ninth-month midnight,
Over the sterile sands and the fields beyond, where the child leaving his be wander’d alone, bareheaded, barefoot,
Down from the shower’d halo,
Up from the mystic play of shadows twining and twisting as if they were alive,
Out from the patches of briers and blackberries,
From the memories of the bird that chanted to me,
From your memories sad brother, from the fitful risings and fallings I heard,
From under that yellow half-moon late-risen and swollen as if with tears,
From those beginning notes of yearning and love there in the mist,
From the thousand responses of my heart never to cease,
From the myriad thence-arous’d words,
From the word stronger and more delicious than any,
From such as now they start the scene revisiting,
As a flock, twittering, rising, or overhead passing,
Borne hither, ere all eludes me, hurriedly,
A man, yet by these tears a little boy again,
Throwing myself on the sand, confronting the waves,
I, chanter of pains and joys, uniter of here and hereafter
Taking all hints to use them, but swiftly leaping beyond them,
A reminiscence sing.
So we were in Ventura this last weekend. Jess is off work and we needed to see our beloved siblings and delightfully giggly nephew. While we were at it we decided to buy RJ’s 2004 Tacoma, red like the blood of a stallion. Don’t even mess with me, ye gods of inclement weather cuz I’ve got the Differential Lock totally figured out! It’s got carpet in the covered back and looks ideal for camping, or sleeping in a Walmart parking lot on our way to Washington this next week! Yes. That soon. There are not enough prunes in the world…
On our way up north we stopped by Granddad’s in Oxnard and talked with cousin Rachel about her moving experiences. She suggested ABF and, lo and behold, we tailed one somewhere around McFarlane (attempting a pun on “tail’ involving cattle but it won’t come!), called the number and got a big truck plopped down on Elefa today. We have 10 x 9 x 6 and intend to stuff it to the proverbial and literal gills. Should be fun.
Fun. Funny. Funntastic. Funtastical. Flundasticomente. Bleh!
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Q I. What is your sole comfort in life and in death?
A I. That I belong, in body and soul, in life and in death, not to myself, but to my faithful Savior Jesus Christ…
The days are hot and dry. At least I’m no black dog, eh Neumes? The “office” is stacked with boxes Jess and I fished out of the dumpster of Borders. She made color-coded labels. Took things to Goodwill…
Let’s face it folks! I’ve got serious Piano Withdrawals! It just hits you when you want to try and poke out that first, movie-theme theme from Prokofiev’s first piano concerto — BAM! no piano in the corner. Or you want to feel out the compositional process on some Sibelius compositions you’re working on — BAM, BAM! no piano! The corner is stacked with boxes from the kitchen that say “fragile”. All you remember are the four Russian men hoisting it out of the door and down the stairs into the back of a truck like that Laurel and Hardy flick, except successful and in color and not quite as funny…
You know, I bet Charles Rosen has some wonderful insights into the part of the pianist that pines and weeps for the touch and sound of the ol’ ivories. Kalberg too. It’s just ironic then that all my books are stowed away in one of several coffee boxes (also from Borders, thank you!) without a trace. That must by why I’ve been to The Almost Perfect Bookstore so often this last week. Why not buy Leaves of Grass or a Spanish/English dictionary? Porqúe? Yo no sé…
* * *
Plough me deep, great Lord, heavenly husbandman, that my being may be a tilled field, the roots of grace spreading far and wide, until thou alone art seen in me, thy beauty golden like summer harvest, thy fruitfulness as autumn plenty.