Yes, strange bedfellows, wouldn't you say - a hyacinth, dandelion flower, dandelion seedhead. Technically it is still winter (spring a week away). And one is considered a weed; the other a highly prized, highly scented spring flower.
I wonder if I am picking up worms on sidewalk (victims of recent rains) and putting them back on soil to be noticed. I mean, well, not noticed exactly; maybe it is more that it is rather a re-markable thing to do; if anyone does notice they likely think I dropped something.
But my worry - or whatever it is - disappears about four seconds into the challenge to get a slippery, wriggling worm picked up with a fingernail left to grow long enough for that purpose, to carry it to the nearest earth, cradling it gently in my palm with some notion to warm it (the rain feels cold) and with some niggling knowledge that earthworms don't need warming. To put it onto the soil, (preferably soft in texture) and cover it with earth or leaves if any robins are out and about.
A few Sundays ago, at the Monterey Centre, as we played darts, there were references to music and how it could affect our game and our lives. At times we have burst into song and this is a most amazing experience.
The Lounge Lizards in the - well, lounge, of the Centre - were in full swing with regulars and guest performers.
At coffee break the darts group sat in the lounge. I never made it back to darts that afternoon. The music was my kind of music, songs I know and love and could and did singalong with.
Then I thought I could hear music coming from the Courtyard and was curious. Good heavens. The daughter of a woman I know was playing the piano in there. Classical music. For her own enjoyment and her mother's; she was visiting from Vancouver. Classical music affects me in a different way. I need and want to be able to singalong - to participate (Pete Seeger would only give a performance if people could and would sing along) but music without words does carry me elsewhere as well and I will stay until it fills me to overflowing and then I have to go somewhere and settle.
Oh, the power of music.
It has been a major part of my life.
My mother would read poetry to my brother and me, poetry that had rhythm and cadence, poetry that her voice and her breath would personify, dramatize. To me, music is poetry being sung. Some of the many poems I have written over the years 'came with music'. I would sing them to my kids while driving.
Poetry ..... music .... is something that companions us in life. Always accessible. Triggered, usually by nature. Nature, human and otherwise.
I once knit scarves for daffodils already in bloom when snow surprised us several years ago. Recent rains have gotten these daff bulbs growing mightily, but it looks like the splashed-up mud is as surprising as snow!