And so the wind blows me about as it will
And so it wends its whistling step across
The dross of New York City.

It blusters, blissfully, through the trees
The leaves bristling at the intrusion
But welcoming a kind of reunion
It's fall, you see, and we're delighted to behold
The slow drop, the sweet stop
Of the heartbeat of the sun

And so the wind whirls through the locks
Caresses the tresses of the girls and of the treetops
And so it pulls my thoughts to pleasanter things
And so... the wind blows me about as it will

I am a...

"CAPRICORN (Dec. 22-Jan. 19): For over 2,000 years, Chinese astronomers have understood the science of eclipses. And yet as late as the 1800s, sailors in the Chinese navy shot cannonballs in the direction of lunar eclipses, hoping to chase away the dragons they imagined were devouring the moon. I have a theory that there's a similar discrepancy in your psyche, Capricorn. A fearful part of you has an irrational fantasy that a wiser part of you knows is a delusion. So how can we arrange for the wiser part to gain ascendancy? There's an urgent need for you to stop wasting time and energy by indulging in that mistaken perspective." (from the Missoula Indendent's Blog)

There are stories that I tell myself. That I'm bad at this. That I'm worse at that. That my talents are narrow and my skills are set in their ways. But as soon as a statement comes out of my mouth, "oh, I'm so bad at..."  - it feels wrong. It feels like I'm betraying the truth that I know, the one that is different than the stories I whisper to myself. The wiser part of me is taken aback, appalled that I would say such negative, such incorrect things. Because the wiser part of my knows just what I am capable of when I put my mind to it. It knows that I am capable of anything, and my excuses are just excuses, used to hide from the tasks that are difficult or unpleasant.
You see, I am a runner. By which I mean, it's important how you see yourself, how you talk about yourself (to yourself, and to others), and how your actions follow from that perception. And I've been reminded time and time again that my frame of mind needs shifting, until it focuses and settles on the task at hand (namely, music). The truths I tell myself, about myself, are the ideals I aspire to. 
You see, I am someone who exercises. I am someone who does not eat candy. I am a musician. And the things I do with my life and my time are reflections of what a person who is a musician, doesn't eat candy, and exercises, would do with their life.
You see, I am living up to myself, as I visualize myself. And it does no good to simply try. As Yoda so famously said: do. Or do not.



p.s. I had maybe read my horoscope 5 times in my life before I moved to Montana. The last few months we lived in Missoula, I got hooked on the Indy's weekly versions. I've been checking them online every Wednesday, ever since we moved. I don't hold too tightly to these things, but I like the way Rob Brezny suggests you take a look at life and think about things through a different lens.

Just a little green

I've really been appreciating the benefit of being outdoors lately. Often, during my precious lunch hour, I'll scurry as quickly as I can down to the East River to get a glimpse of the shifting water, the free-wheeling boats in pursuit of the sea, and the trees all leafed-out along the promenade. But recently, I've been drawn to the bits of grass that are not-quite-as-far as the water. (This is New York; it is nothing, if not about convenience.)
The grass I like best is a tiny little strip; not necessarily manufactured for human lounging, but just big enough to accommodate a cross-legged girl who wants to kick her shoes off. It's littered with leaves and weeds and tiny ants, but that's sort of the way I like it. There's something about setting your feet on the ground and letting them get all green and grass-imprinted that does an office-computer-weary heart a world of good.

Oops

Sometimes I just like the way words fit together
The way that the clouds can suggest at the weather
But then suddenly I realize
I've written a poem about prostitution.

I wonder what Freud would say.
(Whatever. He was a bit of a quack, anyway.)

Good morning (with a hint of summer)

Oh morning,
I love you and your light, bright clearness,
The way the clouds scurry from your sun

Oh morning,
I love the way you creep toward nearness
The way the birds welcome you with song

The way your crisp winds waft so softly through my windowsill
Like a mother's fresh bread, beckoning her children to return

And so I return to you, each brand new day,
In an ancient, but eternally renewing way,
Oh morning.

It's all about the weather

What a year for weather, and seasons. This is the year that seasons were made for. Summer was hot and humid. Fall was cool and damp and refreshing. Winter was cold, snowy, and long. And now, spring is springing, and April is about to usher in plenty of showers (as it should).

One more

One more storm before we break
To the sunny skies of springtime
One more spray of snow
Before we bid that winter go,
Before we say our terse goodbyes

Another round of cold before we greedily soak up the sun
So take a gasp and hold it in
We'll wait (impatiently) for spring to lift it's timid head again
To spread its fingers over all the flowers
Over limbs and branches unfurling into leaves, please

You bitter winds! Stop blowing down so fiercely.
You haven't got much left in you, do you?
So go on, get out. We don't want your icy breath about here anymore.

It Might As Well Be Spring

There's something in the air today. You can feel it, like a sigh of relief after holding your breath for a very long time. You can feel it in your limbs and in your hair, in how they belong out on the sidewalk, in Central Park, or by the East River. You can feel it in the not-quite-humid way the water hangs in the air, with it's tinges of garbage and freshness and salt.
It's getting warmer. Spring is coming. The concrete has a happier quality to it. You can step out into the city like you can't when it's winter, with your ankles out and everything.

I felt like I greeted an old friend this morning. Hello, New York. Glad to see you stirring and shaking off your sleepy hibernation. Let's get coffee soon.

Purple

This purple noise... swirling about my nose, I can't help breathing it in. It tastes smoky and dark and delicious - like wine from a particular wineglass. Carpets that smell like church and basements - a lingering mold that flavors this stew of music and booze and bodies, oh-so-particularly. The faithful and the foreign linger here, in their respective bubbles, treasuring their own respective baubles from a night well spent, or misspent. But the bass strings play on, and on, and on... moving this purple air in pulses towards my ears, my heart, my head.

Sugar and spice make everything nice

It is thoroughly fall these days. The temperature is dropping, and staying down, thank goodness. I'm giddy about the cold this year. I'm sure I'll be complaining in January, but I'm practically reveling in it right now. I've strewn vests around the living room, pulled hefty coats out of rubbermaid bins, and I wore - wait for it - a thermal shirt AND a sweater AND boots today. Bam! If that doesn't scream "fall," I don't know what does. I'm throwing scarves around my neck like it ain't nuthin. I'm keeping my hands in my pockets and using lotion like a fiend because sheesh it's dry and windy out there. We even closed our perpetually-open living room window because it was a gettin' a little too chilly in the apartment. It's serious, I'm tellin ya.

I can practically smell the smells of Thanksgiving and Christmas. I smile when I wander through Whole Foods, imagining and eagerly anticipating the wreaths and scented pine cones that will overtake the space and senses of the thousands of shoppers who will materialize during the holidays. I'm just waiting for the days to get darker so that lights will start popping up on trees. I'm happily downing pumpkin ale and am utterly excited by the prospect of drinking mulled wine on a regular basis.

Really, it's like I'm basking in brown.

(and winter is coming!)

Labor Day

It's nice when we can remember that life is full of friends, family, love, and life. It's especially nice when you can slip into an old friendship like nuthin. Those are the best kind of friendships, and I like them.

We'll be slipping away this weekend into the sights and sounds of the Finger Lakes. I'm beyond stoked to get out of the city for a few days and enjoy some lounging, fantastic company, tasty food, and country scenes. I'm ready to greet that old, tiny little town as a friend. It sheltered us last year at the end of the summer, and held a lot of my rantings and ravings and runnings in its air as it cooled and condensed into fall. I was lost in that sweet little place. And it kept me, patiently, until we climbed up out of its arms to head to the Big City. I'm excited to return with a stronger sense of self, a contentedness with the place I've established myself in, and a thankfulness for my situation and experiences.

Yellow

It feels yellow in this room
A strong but sickly glow
That almost gives off the perfume
Of the gray of coming days
With shrunken sunlight's feeble rays
Casting a bluer shadow.
An old man, struggling along
With cane in hand
Whose mission was to run along
The broken land
With light and love and health;
So much for summer's wealth.
We're falling apart too soon
With breaking hips, and lips, and hearts.
It feels yellow in this room.

Falling, falling

Well, it's about that time of year, I guess. The wind blowing through Manhattan's man-made canyons has had a slightly cooler bent the last few days - a reminder that although fall isn't quite in the air yet, it will still come along soon enough. That leggings and cardigans and scarves will start adorning the still-sunglasses-clad throngs. That leaves will turn, and fall, and crush to bits under our millions of feet. I know there's still a month of true summer before us, but there was a little something, a switch of a sort, that flipped in my head: where suddenly I realized how liking and enjoying seasons works. Winter is long and cold, and pushes you towards spring. Spring is flirty with warmth and flowers, promising at the beauty of summer. Summer is full and hot and humid, urging you to long for cooler days. And fall is cool and crisp, prepping you for the excitement of snow and winter. I'll be ready for fall, once it gets here. I won't miss summer too horribly, even though it's my favorite season (New York might actually change my mind on that one, though).

Despite the reminder/promise of fall, this summer morning was pretty darn near perfect. It felt breezy and warm and rife with relaxation. It said, "Come spend time with me. Can't you feel the ocean in my breath? Don't you want views of the water and the feeling of sand and surf beneath your feet?" Sadly, work called to me as well, and I decided that someone else would have to enjoy this summer day in my stead.

The foreseeable future

This is something I wrote early last April - I remember it clearly, humming this sunny sort of thing while sitting outside the UM Music Building on a Saturday morning, waiting to meet a friend while noshing on a croissant and coffee from Le Petit. I was thinking about moving, and change, and kind of appreciating life in general.

It's a silly thing (I titled this post "it's only cutesy" when I first wrote it), but I haven't been able to stop humming it since we moved into our new studio apartment. It was a pretty accurate estimate of what we ended up with in New York, and it's dug out a special little place in my heart.

Someday we'll have a patio that all those foreign villas will be jealous of
Lighthearted brunches and romantic dinners will grace its lovely deck
The furniture will reminisce of times long gone which we still hold a fragment of
And nothing will compare with all the ambience it has when table's set


But for now, we're in a itsy bitsy place
With a stove that almost works
And a sink that has its quirks
But for now, we'll be content with lack of space
'Cause we know that we're together
And when someday comes we'll both still have each other


Someday our living room will have a view that no one could've ever dreamed up
The windows, bay, of course, will frame the picture-perfect scene with grace and style
The mountains and the streams that we will see most every day will keep our spirits up
And I believe that we will be contented with it for a little while


But for now, we'll have to do with alley views
And the neighbors' ugly cars
And the lack of nighttime stars
But for now, we're quite content with what we do
'Cause we know that we're together
And when someday comes we'll both still have each other

play that piano

It's all just notes

All little noises

Like little letters

That make up words

Just words

But you can be so articulate. 

Alive, these words

These letters

These sounds, these notes

That make phrases

Phrases

Describing the way emotions exist

With just words. 

You can be so articulate. 

lunch

now I'm just waiting
to fly quickly out of here
for a brief escape,
a breath of fresh experience

now I'm just waiting
on the tips of my toes;
my ear is bent
towards the sound of the sirens
singing me to my freedom
in the deep blue sea

(sometimes)

Let's all run away to Montana
There are plenty of places to hide
In the valleys and mountains
And geysers, their fountains
Of steam

Let's all run away to Montana
I know that there's plenty of space
A quick relocation
To apply isolation
To one's self, one's thoughts, one's dreams

They call this a jungle
Of concrete and brick
The reasons are many
That some just don't stick
To the cement that it's made of
Like so many pieces of gum

They tease us with movies
With music and art
And try to convince
The whole world that it's not
Just a mummer's sweet farce
With an ending that leaves us undone

So, let's all run away to Montana
To wildlife that lingers nearby
Please keep up your guard
The living is hard
'mongst these beasts

Let's all run away to Montana
Where seasons will pass like they should
Where winter is snowy
And summers are showy
With birds in the bushes and trees

My heart's run away to Montana
It's lonesome for natural things
Like forests and water
Like smiles and laughter
And the genuine need for flannel.

Opinions

Opinions, opinions, opinions
Become a meaningless sea of confusion
The roar of the waves as they break on the shore
They never stop pounding; they're coming full-bore
There will always be more; there will always be more.

And this one is right
And this one is wrong
And that one has never stopped fighting for long
The gasps between arguments
Are filling the firmament
With opinions, opinions, opinions

I swore them all off in my innocent youth
Declaring my findings, like some sort of sleuth
(And firmly believing my version of truth)
That we're simply destined to never agree
I'll flee from your lies, then, and count myself free
From opinions, opinions, opinions

Cacophony seems like the best sort of word
Describing the dialogue that seems so absurd
A fact and a check and a call for sweet reason;
They don't seem to reach us through all the confusion
Of opinions, opinions, opinions.

someday I'll be a real artist (kind of like a cow)

Why do words seem, off and on, like vapor
Significant and substantial
but suddenly dismantled
Dispelled in a breath of wind.

Your breath is dispelling my substance
Insisting that it become sustenance
When all I was hoping
Was not to start choking
On the bile of this history lesson

Everything old is new again
Digested some and regurgitated
Our stomachs are singular
So in the vernacular
Our ruminations spill over the floor.

Central Park

For about the last week or so, I've been forgoing my normal cross-town bus commute (almost two miles) and have instead been walking across Central Park. Traveling via foot does take a bit more time, but it's certainly more predictable than rush-hour bus service.

And then I also get views like this:

And this:

Which really aren't too bad.
Dogs romping around (lots of dogs romping around, actually), the wetness of a new morning still lingering in the air... and it has been so very warm the last few days that I didn't even wear my jacket or my cardigan this morning on my walk. (Which I often refer to, in my own mind, as a "morning constitutional," which always makes me giggle. Or titter. "Titter" is much a better word to use when discussing morning constitutionals, I think.)

I've been gleefully ignoring some of the concrete paths and have instead opted to take "straighter" courses through some sections of the park, which often allows me to clamber over the shallow boulders I find in my way. (Parkour!) It's quite satisfying, though I am starting to wonder how very starved I must be for nature (or recess?) that I get a thrill out of jumping off of small rocks.

It's been interesting to see the park fill up as the days have gotten more temperate. Lawns that have been empty since... well, since I started work in November, really, have suddenly started crawling with lawn-loungers, families, and dogs/dog-owners. It's almost like this park is in the middle of New York city or something.
I expect to see the hordes taper off again as the weather gets cooler over the next couple days. At the moment, though, I'm quite enjoying seeing the park all filled with life.
...okay, with one exception: I must say that I don't appreciate the moms/nannies and their strollers that take up 3/5 of the very wide sidewalk, with the inevitable toddler tagging along who wanders around haphazardly in the rest of the 2/5 of space so that you can never ever EVER get around their large familial group.
I mean, it takes at least 30 seconds to finally break through the stroller-barrier. Who has that kind of patience?