Moving In Circles
Aug. 18th, 2007 02:23 amCowboy Junkies Anniversary Song
Have you ever seen a sight as beautiful
as that of the rain-soaked purple
of the white birch in spring?
Have you ever felt more fresh or wonderful
than on a warm fall night
under a Mackerel sky,
the smell of grapes on the wind?
Well I have known all these things
and the joys that they can bring
And I'll share them all for a cup of coffee
and to wear your ring
( Read more... )
I'm wearing my necklace again. My life is full of circles in circles in circles.
This is the necklace that was my father's, my biological father's and not my dad's. It came to me when I was fourteen, and I didn't take it off for a year or two after I got it. Then Kynnin went to France, and I put it on him then. He didn't take it off for a very long time. It traded back and forth between us, an amulet of protection, and there is protective power in it for travellers. I had set it aside; he gave it back to me a time after the split, and I wore it for a few weeks then as I laid my ghosts to rest. Now I'm travelling again, and it's needed.
In my plaster body casts from the time, it's there-- I wouldn't take it off even for that.
He gave me the lyrics from this song, too, on a piece of paper, with a poem he'd written on the back. When I speak of being emotionally unsafe, of implied promises that aren't spoken but that are still *there*, this is the sort of thing I'm speaking of. Afterwards we said, 'it was our intention, but we never promised'. We'd promised, though, in our own beginning, awkward, subtle ways. I try very hard not to make promises like that now, the little secret ones that creep in by implication. It doesn't seem fair to me. If I can't say something up front, I shouldn't say it at all, and those are big promises to even hint at.
So then one day in the winter, Bob plays a song out of the blue and it's that song. This was one of my favourites he says. I lost it for a little while.
The next day, I see, is a post about Juggler and I breaking up. Circles on circles.
I would give you two Van Morrison songs, Jackie Wilson and Coem Running To Me, but Bob's mouse has died and I'm not going to start up my computer at 3am just to post songs. This is a more-or-les shappy interlude, though (I haven't been up to do midnight computering for a long time) and I don't want to leave an icky taste.
I'll go back to bed now and see you at the farmer's market tomorrow, or wherever we end up.
Have you ever seen a sight as beautiful
as that of the rain-soaked purple
of the white birch in spring?
Have you ever felt more fresh or wonderful
than on a warm fall night
under a Mackerel sky,
the smell of grapes on the wind?
Well I have known all these things
and the joys that they can bring
And I'll share them all for a cup of coffee
and to wear your ring
( Read more... )
I'm wearing my necklace again. My life is full of circles in circles in circles.
This is the necklace that was my father's, my biological father's and not my dad's. It came to me when I was fourteen, and I didn't take it off for a year or two after I got it. Then Kynnin went to France, and I put it on him then. He didn't take it off for a very long time. It traded back and forth between us, an amulet of protection, and there is protective power in it for travellers. I had set it aside; he gave it back to me a time after the split, and I wore it for a few weeks then as I laid my ghosts to rest. Now I'm travelling again, and it's needed.
In my plaster body casts from the time, it's there-- I wouldn't take it off even for that.
He gave me the lyrics from this song, too, on a piece of paper, with a poem he'd written on the back. When I speak of being emotionally unsafe, of implied promises that aren't spoken but that are still *there*, this is the sort of thing I'm speaking of. Afterwards we said, 'it was our intention, but we never promised'. We'd promised, though, in our own beginning, awkward, subtle ways. I try very hard not to make promises like that now, the little secret ones that creep in by implication. It doesn't seem fair to me. If I can't say something up front, I shouldn't say it at all, and those are big promises to even hint at.
So then one day in the winter, Bob plays a song out of the blue and it's that song. This was one of my favourites he says. I lost it for a little while.
The next day, I see, is a post about Juggler and I breaking up. Circles on circles.
I would give you two Van Morrison songs, Jackie Wilson and Coem Running To Me, but Bob's mouse has died and I'm not going to start up my computer at 3am just to post songs. This is a more-or-les shappy interlude, though (I haven't been up to do midnight computering for a long time) and I don't want to leave an icky taste.
I'll go back to bed now and see you at the farmer's market tomorrow, or wherever we end up.