"... You may say I'm a dreamer ..." / Turning to music for sustenance as the sorrow of war unfolds

 

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".... Imagine all the people ..."

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“Once I traveled far above the earth. This beloved planet we call home was covered with an elastic web of light. I watched in awe as it shimmered, stretched, dimmed, and shined, shaped by the collective effort of all life within it. Dissonance attracted more dissonance. Harmony attracted harmony. I saw revolutions, droughts, famines, and the births of new nations. The most humble kindnesses made the brightest lights. Nothing was wasted.” ~ Joy Harjo

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“The child in each of us / Knows paradise. / Paradise is home. / Home as it was / Or home as it should have been. // Paradise is one’s own place, / One’s own people, / One’s own world, / Knowing and known, / Perhaps even / Loving and loved. // Yet every child / Is cast from paradise— / Into growth and destruction, / Into solitude and new community, / Into vast, ongoing / Change.” *— Parable of the Talents (Octavia E. Butler)*

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Sending love near and far to all suffering from the effects of wars past and present.

Birds singing at 4 a.m. / Blue sky alternating with dark clouds

When I read Sabine's recent post about blog housekeeping, I didn't realize that I was no longer receiving an email each time someone commented on my blog.  Finally I realized that there was a backlog of comments that were awaiting my moderation.  Thank you for your comments.  I am sustained by our conversations through our comments.   

This time of year brings frequent changes in the weather in the coastal Pacific Northwest.  It's been cold enough at night that I am sleeping as well as I do in the winter, with all my winter covers on my bed and all my windows wide open.  I'm enjoying watching my porch garden bloom.  I've been seeing an osprey flying above the portion of Lake Whatcom that is just beyond Scudder Pond as well as Great Blue Herons.  There is still some cottonwood fluff in the air.  I've seen more Swallowtails than I can ever remember seeing.

Morelle at Rivertrain brought Daša Drndić's life and death to my attention with a link to the interview titled "There Are No Small Fascisms." Our public library has a copy of Trieste, and I've put it on hold.  From what I've read about the book, it is as difficult and challenging to read as The Parable of the Sower, by Octavia Butler, and as important to read in these times.