Sometimes it’s as if frames from two different films overlap. For a moment. Sometimes longer. Occasionally the overlapping images complement one another, but often the experience is jarring. Confusing. Unsettling.
Seasons bleed into one another playfully, testing our agility, our resilience. Far-flung geographies, domiciles, and life stages muddle, merge, and drift apart again. Our worlds intermingle. For a moment. Sometimes longer.
October Rain, Wordy
Tell me a story
of prism pocks on pears.
Sing me a song
of raindrops on apples.
Pen me a poem
of flickering daylight,
flirting with nightfall;
of sleepless longing
for toil-oiled muscles
and limber limbed spring;
of sauntering through
my cherished orchard
in sultry summer,
still oblivious to
the dreary drama
of October rain.
October Rain, Visual
Sometimes poetry leans on language, word bricks and word mortar, to sculpt a song or a story. Sometimes vision is enough to free the singing underneath…
October Rain, Singalong
Another perspective on October Rain just might wiggle it’s way into your mental repeat. I happened upon the subtly hypnotic jingle by Robin Jackson, and now it’s continuous looping like a subconscious 8-track tape in my graying gray matter.
Mostly October is crisp and clear along the Adirondack Coast. Quintessential autumn. But exceptions and rules are made in mysterious ways…
What do you think?