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thoughts on orchards & seasons that change

today at the market, there were apples.
those little ones, with the banding colours of yellows
and yellow-greens and dappled reds.  the little ones
in big bags that you knew somebody nearby had grown.

it made me happy.
because it makes me know that it's autumn

once upon an autumn, a girl I once knew--she shared
her farm with me. it was only for a week, but I still
think I lived there.


they lived in vermont--she and her momma and poppa and
brother and little sister and baby brother.  raised
sheep.  


I was kinda scared of the sheep.
they were pretty big...about as high as my waist and
they would like to nudge around the fence and nudge
around your hips and nudge around your fingers if you
got too near.

even more daunting than the sheep were the wilson's
dogs.  they were equally huge and wooly and yappy like
puppies...and always very muddy and very slobbery.

(large grin)


okay.  so, I admit, I liked the dogs.
but I digress.

the wilson's farm was located down a long, winding
dipping road--this was their driveway.  nestled in
hills and woods so thick and green I'd swear faeries
and elves spritzed about the stony creeks there.

ever since, I have struggled to call the tree copses
in pennsylvania woods.


in the afternoons, aurora, her little sister and I
would go to pick apples.  the sun warmed shoulders and
we'd tripse down the weedy slope to pluck apples off
of the branches and out of the grasses and you would
climb as high as you could reach and use long handled
metal claws to catch those higher still.

I admit, I loved their orchard.


and there is a point to this...


I once paralelled mr. linford and company
(collectively referred to as over the rhine) to my
experience in vermont.  a secret, stowed away
somewhere deeper where it is harder to know…
         and I still stand on that.
	slow?
	perhaps.  I need the slow when I can hardly calm my
fast-paced, eager achieving person to finally stop
scouring scrubbing, rationalising, organising and
settle in the quiet and the still.
they will always be that to me. 
and they will be some of my richest memories.
my favourite photographs.

has linford changed?
yes, yes he has.
we all have to grow up at some point and realise that
playing with paints and making pretty stories and
writing lovely songs and all of that stuff of
heartbeats doesn’t often feed us.  and maybe we see
enough of this world that we wanna get our own piece. 
or maybe we want to ward of the evils of it by
grabbing a little larger portion.  I don’t know.  I’m
young.  I’m still happily saying I’m wise when I have
years.

I stand happily with ms. stef.
yes.  they have changed.  I am glad for it.
I will always love the good old days I never knew.
but I love the richness of years in wrinkles and
greys.

and so it makes us bitter?
and so it makes us sad?
and so it dissapoints us?

yes.  it always does.

but how many of us have found Good Dog, Bad Dog and
those albums preceding to be a fine potion for our
personal battles with the beautiful pieces of
heartache?

in short:
we slow down.
we grow up.
we fall down.
we sleep.
we find our bones creak when we stretch and our skin
will crease when we smile.
there is beauty in the worn out stuff and there’s
something lovely about the stuff so faded it’s
comfortable and the slow songs are the ones you can
dance to without ever stopping to sit down.


lg.





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