Color key (getting ready to paint something) / Listening to old rock & roll / Looking to the east

Took inventory of my paint tubes and made a color key:

While working on the color key, I listened to a collection of old rock & roll songs.  It must have been when I was 7 years old that I first heard this:

When I went out on the porch, I saw this:

You can hear a Steller's Jay at the end of the clip.

This November Light

Listen

Still in quiet mode.  Thank you for continuing to stop by.

Falling and Illumination

A few days ago, a friend and I took a long walk up steep Hillsdale Road to the gradual climb of Toad Lake Road and down to Toad Lake and then part way up Squalicum Mountain Road and back (check Google Maps if you would like to see just where this is in Bellingham, Washington).  As we were walking north along Toad Lake Road, my friend looked up and noticed a golden rain that appeared to be falling out of the deep blue sky.  I looked up and then down and saw a few tiny flat seed pods sticking to my fleece jacket.  We looked up and to the west side of the narrow road and to where there was a small stand of trees with a few leaves left on them.  The seeds were illuminated by the sun as they fell from the trees. The afternoon light and the timing were just right.  In all the years I have lived in Bellingham, I've never consciously seen this before.

When I got home I went to Google, certain that I could find out what kind of tree had released the shower of gold.  I entered words like "golden rain" and "trees" and "seed fall" but came up with nothing that seemed to refer to anything like what we had seen.  Then I went to Google Images and entered "tree seeds" and quickly discovered that the golden rain was most likely from alder trees.

I didn't have my camera with me, but I doubt a camera could have captured that experience.

As the days get shorter and darker, my spirits lift inexplicably, and playing the dulcimer is giving me unexpected added joy.  I'd like to be able to play like Robert Force but am happy just to be learning what I can:

Listen.

Whenever I take a picture of myself taking a picture of myself, I think of Imogen Cunningham.

More about Imogen Cunningham.

Lost and found / Veterans Day 2012

While looking for dulcimer tunes I found this poem, written by a veteran of World War II and recently set to music by his son.

May all veterans and their loved ones be safe and know they are loved.

Sunset on the Prairie

There's a sunset on the prairie and the sky in rainbow hue
Makes a symphony of color of crimson, gold and blue
There's a sunset on the prairie and its last flamboyant ray
Is like an elfin princess that takes your breath away

There's a sunset on the prairie and as the colors fade
They present a grander picture than the finest canvas made
As the sun sets on my foxhole I can see across the sea
To the prairies of Dakota from the shores of Sicily.

Across the sands of Northern Africa, we chased the Desert Fox
From Kasserine to El Guettar, who can say who's won or lost?
As we tally up the human cost, children beg for chocolate
In the dusty streets of old Sale, while soldiers bow their heads and pray
On both sides of the line

After Tunis fell, we crossed the sea and came ashore on Sicily
Patton and Montgomery in a race to get to Italy
In Troina beneath Etna's shade, all our tiny roles we played
Pawns were moved and plans were laid
The generals bet, the soldiers paid on both sides of the line

From Palermo all roads led to Rome, but it's such a longer journey home
'Cross the Arno, up the Apennines, to Southern France, the river Rhine
Rain or mud, shine or blow, the infantry all hunkered low
How we did it, I don't know
Pushing back the line one foot at a time.

Now the swallows still are flying above the flashing guns
While friend and foe lie dying beneath the setting sun
One more brilliant sunset, another place without a name
Blood red are the colors, it's going down in flames

© Robert McPeek 2010, SoundSpark Music, ASCAP

Light in November 2012

A message from Brother Toby of Starcross Community in Northern California:

The light shines in the darkness and there humanity becomes aware of it.

Meister Eckhart (c.1260-c.1327)

As I walk to the chapel for Vespers, the trees around me are mostly bare. Their colorful leaves lay on the ground. Without the leaves I can see the tree as it really is, with all its weaknesses and the simplicity of its beauty.
 
In human relations it is often hard to see beyond the leaves that conceal the person. We have just finished a national election unlike any I have experienced. These words were written before the election and you are reading them after it. Some will be relieved and others disappointed. For most, it is simply a difference of how worried we are about the future. And, the future of “what”? The overall well-being of the human family or our individual personal welfare? Or both?
 
It's my good fortune to be around many bright people born after May 4, 1970. They wonder why some of us old folks get so worked up. What is it we expected from life? Well, the big secret of counter-culture life in the 1960s was that most of us would have to admit that, down deep, we really did believe this was the dawning of the Age of Aquarius. We used different words, and dressed differently from each other but we all thought we could change the world. There was a sort of extended tribal feeling.
 
There was nothing remarkable about students at Kent State University protesting against the Vietnam war. That was happening all over the country. On May 4^th the Ohio National Guard killed four of them and wounded nine. We all felt it. In that 13 second burst of 67 rounds it became clear there would be no Age of Aquarius. For many of us restless ancients, the problem is we have trouble getting used to the fact that we cannot change the world with broad movements. And we rail against that!
 
Many younger friends of mine have accepted what Peter Benson said when he founded Amnesty International, “It is better to light one candle than to curse the darkness.”  That is a healthy attitude and, in fact, it is ancient wisdom. Long ago a rabbi said to an impatient student, “God did not ask you to be Moses. God asked you to be YOU.”
 
As I walk along the path I realize that sometimes the pretty leaves keep me from seeing the tree — or being me. Here at Starcross you will not find the seeds of a spiritual revolution. Here there is only one small candle. The tiny flame must be protected. It can be blown out by ideology, whether that comes from obstructionists on the right or politically correct true-believers on the left — or from the rigidity of our twisted religious history.
 
As I stand looking out on the porch of our little chapel in the autumn twilight,  I can sense people beyond number carrying their little candles and protecting the flames from the storms around us. In those fragile lights, sisters and brothers, is the beauty of our age and the hope of our future.
 
Brother Toby

"The road leads to the sea."

September 1961

Denise Levertov
b. October 24, 1923

This is the year the old ones,
the old great ones
leave us alone on the road.

The road leads to the sea.
We have the words in our pockets,
obscure directions. The old ones

have taken away the light of their presence,
we see it moving away over a hill
off to one side.

They are not dying,
they are withdrawn
into a painful privacy

learning to live without words.
E. P. "It looks like dying"--Williams: "I can't
describe to you what has been

happening to me"--
H. D. "unable to speak."
The darkness

twists itself in the wind, the stars
are small, the horizon
ringed with confused urban light-haze.

They have told us
the road leads to the sea,
and given

the language into our hands.
We hear
our footsteps each time a truck

has dazzled past us and gone
leaving us new silence.
One can't reach

the sea on this endless
road to the sea unless
one turns aside at the end, it seems,

follows
the owl that silently glides above it
aslant, back and forth,

and away into deep woods.

But for us the road
unfurls itself, we count the
words in our pockets, we wonder

how it will be without them, we don't
stop walking, we know
there is far to go, sometimes

we think the night wind carries
a smell of the sea...

Thanks to wood s lot for this poem.

I've been playing my ukulele and, yesterday, was astonished to be able to tune my difficult-to-tune dulcimer.  Continuing to read my long-time favorite blogs but remaining for the most part in quiet mode, gathering energy for painting, drawing and weaving.

And winter walking.

Sunday morning / Shelter from the tempest

The tempest in my mind / doth from my senses take all feeling.

(William Shakespeare -- words spoken by King Lear)

All, everything that I understand, I understand only because of love.

(Leo Tolstoy)

Tolstoy was right.

(Bob Dylan, from the liner notes from the album "Desire")

May your heart always be joyful.

(Bob Dylan, from "Forever Young")

Can't seem to come up with many words of my own recently, except to express a heartfelt thank you to those who continue to widen my horizons by posting on your blogs and who continue to stop by and comment here.  Thank you, too, to those who stop by silently.  

I can feel my creative energy rising as it did in the past during this time of year, but it's nonverbal right now.  Although my health is good, my physical and emotional energy, as always, have their limits.  I have a hard time accepting that, but acceptance is the key.

Janis Joplin said, "...letting yourself feel all those things that you have already on the inside of you but you're all the time trying to push them aside because they don't make for polite conversation or something ..."

Here is a delightful interview with Janis that I hadn't heard before.  What a shock it was to hear the news of her death on October 4, 1970.  What a shock today realize that was 42 years ago.  

... She once walked right at my side

I'm sure she walked by you ...

(from "In The Quiet Morning," music and lyrics by Mimi Farina)

Bellingham Bay with wind and waves a few days ago:

Views and music from my full and simple 63rd birthday today

Crow flying / Crow walking / Crow drawing

A few mornings ago, I went out on my porch to see an extraordinary sky around sunrise and noticed crows flying from the east to the west.  Enlarge photo to see them all.

I listened to all of the birds singing.

Later, down by Bellingham Bay, I watch a crow taking a walk.

Here's more about the the daily migration of crows and an image of a crow flying at sunrise, Black Crow Blues, and a crow drawing by am from April 2010:

and just found this -- crows or ravens in a tree at Big Sur this very moment:

Bellingham and someone who walks and dances and writes here

Pirate playground at Boulevard Park

Bow pose from Taylor Street Dock

Looking back to the north

More here.

Foggy late September morning / Thinking about Bob Dylan and John Lennon and Yoko Ono

Foggy Bellingham morning 7:30 a.m., looking toward downtown Bellingham

Driving through town toward the South Bay Trail

Looking to the northwest from the turnout on Boulevard

Low tide at Padden Creek Lagoon (on foot now)

September colors alongside Padden Creek Lagoon

Entering the area of the Alaska Ferry Terminal

Ground near the skateboard shop

Train tracks leading to Canada

Looping back through Fairhaven

Message rock noticed tucked under larger rock -- photographed, and then replaced.

Approaching Taylor Street Dock

A black and white and grey moment

From the September 27 Rolling Stone interview with Bob Dylan:

"... When that narrator talks about walking this or that road, do you have pictures of those roads in your mind?

Yeah, but not in a specific kind of way.  You can feel it, without being able to see it.  It's an old-time thing:  the walking blues.

The walking could be what somebody witnesses.  It could be the road to death; it could be the road to illumination.

Sure, all those roads.  How many roads must a man walk down?  Not run down, drive down or crawl down? I've been raised on that.  The walking blues.  "Walking to New Orleans," "Cadillac Walk," "Hand Me Down My Walkin' Cane." It's the only way I know.  It comes natural."

The person who's walking in these songs, is he walking alone?

Sometimes, but then again, sometimes not. Sometimes you got to get into your own space for a while.  It never really dawns on me, though, whether I'm walking alone or not.  Seems like I'm always walking with somebody ...

From "The Final Days," by Yoko Ono, in the recently published special collector's edition of the Rolling Stone dedicated to John Lennon, who would have been 72 years old on October 9:

"... John liked being prompt.  John was English.  I was Japanese.  The result was both of us possessed extreme austerity and hilarity back to back ..."

View from the Lake Padden Trail

"If we're responsible to ourselves, then we can be responsible for other people, too.  But we have to know ourselves first.  People listen to my songs and they must think I'm a certain type of way, and maybe I am.  But there's more to it than that. I think they can listen to my songs and figure out who they are, too."

(Bob Dylan, from the recent Rolling Stone interview by Mikal Gilmore)

Out walking in mid-September in Bellingham

Splendid mural by Lanny Little in the Fairhaven District of Bellingham, Washington.

Listening to "Tempest" / Heading home on Mt. Baker Highway

Scroll down on the left side here for lyrics and chords tabbed by Eyolf Østrem.

Radiant golden mist to the east at dawn

Yesterday when I bought my copy of "Tempest," I noticed that the DVD for "Titanic" was displayed at the check-out counter.  I'd never had any desire to see "Titanic," but because I am always curious about anyone or anything mentioned in songs by Bob Dylan, I bought the DVD.  After returning from my trip up Mt. Baker Highway to Heather Meadows while listening to Bob Dylan's fierce and challenging stories in song, I sat down at my work table to watch "Titanic." It is eerie how the cinematic images of the sinking Titanic in April 1912 resemble the camera-documented images of the twin towers collapsing in September 2001.  

"It has been said that sometimes we need a story more than food in order to live."

-- Rachel Naomi Remen, from My Grandfather's Blessings:  Stories of Strength, Refuge, and Belonging.

Below is a view of Mt. Shuksan, taken just down the road from Heather Meadows.  You can hear the opening to "Duquesne Whistle," the first of 10 songs on "Tempest":

"... Leo took his sketchbook / he was often so inclined ..." (lyrics from "Tempest")

Above are the apostles Peter and John in a detail from "The Last Supper," by Leonardo da Vinci.

Still thinking about the layers of imagery in the songs "Roll on John" and "Tempest"and "Duquesne Whistle" from Bob Dylan's soon-to-be-released album "Tempest." 

Of note, Bob Dylan has been singing "Visions of Johanna" frequently in recent concerts.

Johanna is the feminine version of John and has its roots in the Hebrew name Yohanan which means "graced by Yahweh." The last book of the Christian bible is titled "Revelations" and contains the visions of the Apostle John who is depicted by Leonardo da Vinci in "The Last Supper" as looking just like a woman.

"... you old rascal, I know exactly where you're going...

(from "Duquesne Whistle")

At age 71, Bob Dylan has not lost his ability to create a musical collage of mystery and edginess leavened with sublime and earthy humor that is ultimately an affirmation of life.  It is that essence of creativity that has kept me listening for so many years and moved my creative spirit time and again.

Here's Oboe sleeping under her bower of Achimenes skinneri:

Leaves are beginning to fall here.  The cloud cover is back today, and the wind is up.

Learn Something New Every Day

A few days ago, I noticed a small unfamiliar flower, about an inch across, blooming on my porch where I had planted seeds from a packet given to me by a friend last year.  "Sweet Baby Blues" was the name given to the seed mixture and promised soothing hues of blue, violet, lavender, purple and white. Turns out the flower is a "Five Spot", as in The Five Spot Cafe:

I'm still learning.  Eric Dolphy was born in Los Angeles in 1928.

Question 42 / Late summer days / "The scenery in his mind"

"All sorrows can be borne if you can put them into a story or tell a story about them." 

(Karen Blixin / Isak Dinesen)

"But it's not to stand naked under unknowin' eyes

It's for myself and my friends my stories are sung." 

(Bob Dylan, lyrics from "Restless Farewell," early 1960s)

From Bob Dylan's first album 50 years ago.  Fifty years ago:

"Perseverance furthers." (from the I-Ching)

"... Leo took his sketchbook

He was often so inclined

He closed his eyes and painted

The scenery in his mind ..."

("Titanic" lyrics by Bob Dylan from "Tempest")

Bob Dylan - Roll on John lyrics / John of Patmos / Talking Apocalypse Blues

 The traditional Roll on John":

Tentative lyrics to the new "Roll on John" from the soon-to-be released Bob Dylan album "Tempest" (you can hear the entire album for free on iTunes until September 11):

Doctor, doctor, tell me the time of day

Another bottle's empty

Another penny spent

He turned around and he slowly walked away

They shot him in the back and down he went

Shine your light, move it on, you burn so bright, roll on John

From the Liverpool docks to the red light Hamburg streets

Down in the quarry with the Quarrymen.

Playing to the big crowds

Playing to the cheap seats

Another day in the life on your way to your journey’s end

Shine your light, move it on, you burn so bright, roll on John

Sailing through the tradewinds
Bound for the south

Rags on your back just like any other slave

They tied your hands and they clamped your mouth

Wasn’t no way out of that deep dark cave

Shine your light, move it on, you burn so bright, roll on John

I heard the news today, oh boy

They hauled your ship up on the shore

Now the city’s gone dark

There is no more joy

They tore the heart right out and cut it to the core

Shine your light, move it on, you burn so bright, roll on John

Put on your bags and get ‘em packed.

Leave right now you won’t be far from wrong

The sooner you go, the quicker you’ll be back

You’ve been cooped up on an island far too long

Shine your light, move it on, you burn so bright, roll on John

Slow down you’re moving way too fast

Come together right now over me

Your bones are weary

You’re about to breathe your last

Lord, you know how hard that it can be

Shine your light, move it on, you burn so bright, roll on John

Roll on John, roll through the rain and snow

Take the righthand road and go where the buffalo roam

They’ll trap you in an ambush before you know

Too late now to sail back home

Shine your light, move it on, you burn so bright, roll on John

Tyger, Tyger burning bright

I pray the Lord my soul to keep

In the forest of the night

Cover him over and let him sleep

Shine your light, move it on, you burn so bright, roll on John

Something tells me this song is about John of Patmos ("...You’ve been cooped up on an island far too long...") as well as John Lennon.

("A Birthday In May," in watercolor, painted by am in the early 1980s)