amergina: (autumn path)
[Playing the [ profile] therealljidol home game.]

The moment of bliss I best remember is not a moment of grandur, and yet is it everything, every moment of beauty I have experienced. Bliss came when I heard a piece of music played by four men in a tiny concert hall in Pittsburgh. The song was "Punta Patri," played by the California Guitar Trio with Tony Levin in the Frick Fine Arts building several years ago. It has no lyrics.

I cannot describe that music to you, not the way it made me feel.

Hearing it was like dawn glinting off of waves crashing on sand, like driving over West Virginia in the autumn. The sound tasted like the sharp tang of fresh lemon. It felt like standing in a waterfall or in the middle of a snow-crusted field lit only by moonlight.

I could smell the first hint of spring in the air, that heady warm earthen scent that tells you winter has let go. I saw the sun crest over Cappadocia while flying in a hot air balloon, felt the wondrous panic in the moment before gravity catches as I stepped off the high-dive... and the pang of regret when I realized that I would never again have that exact moment.

It was the cumulation of those moments, condensed into four minutes of pure bliss, with Tony Levin on bass. I could have died then, and not regretted a single moment of my life.

As the sound faded away that night, I knew I would never hear it again, not like that. Yes, I have the album, but the track is just a reminder of that single moment when I could feel the music and barely breath as I watch fingers fly across strings.

I do catch strains of that time in other moments. They are the pearls of bliss strung on the line of a song.
amergina: (autumn path)
The birds outside my bedroom window chatter in the hedge every morning. I've been leaving the windows open at night, as the nights have turned cool, so I hear them more than normal. But these are not the sparrows and finches of the summer, but other birds migrating south, stopping in my yard to feast of the berries in the hedge before moving on.

The leaves of my oak turn from green to brown and acorns fall against the roof, the loud thuds startling me when I lie in my bed.

I love autumn, but it is a time of changes for me. It leaves me unsettled, waiting for the deep sleep of winter when there is calm before the frantic spring and its rains and flowers.

Autumn in my youth brought school, new classes, new students, an end to the lazy summer of swimming and sleeping. It brought leaf piles and pumpkin pie, but meant the end to picnics and trips to the beach.

As I grew older, Autumn brought death. I lost my grandfather in autumn. My grandmother, too, many years later. A friend's unexpected death came this time of year. Another person beloved by many of my friends passed just a week ago. I've said too many tearful goodbyes when the leaves are gold and red.

But I bought my house when the days shortened and the sun turned golden in the afternoons. I said a glorious hello to my very first niece last year when the winds brought cold from the north. I returned to my faith after years with my back turned away on a cool brilliant Saturday afternoon that smelled of crisp wood smoke and pine. Hello, hello, hello, my beloved.

I plant bulbs every fall into the cooling, dormant earth in hopes that I will see them in spring. I bring in my potted plants to nurse them through the winter. This year, I have a lemon to pick, a final taste of the sunlight to savor as the days grow short. In a few weeks, I'll watch the plants die when the frost comes, clean up my plant beds and put them to sleep for the winter. Then I will wait for that sleep, those cold days of tea and snow.

It's autumn, and the leaves are changing color. Goodbye. Hello. I will see you again.

This was last week's [ profile] therealljidol topic, but since I'm playing the home game, I don't have to post by deadline.
amergina: (Default)
I'm not an official participant in [ profile] therealljidol, but I'll be occasionally playing the "home game" by writing from some of the prompts. These entries will be public.

I'm staring at an icon that is not my own. It's this icon, and it has been randomly showing up as my default icon rather than my actual default icon: a LOL cat icon of my cat Michael (which I suspect is the icon everyone else sees).

The curious thing is that this random icon does resonate with me, enough that could be my default icon, were there an alternate version of myself journaling in a very similar world. It's familiar, like a bout of deja vu. I am sorry that I didn't tell you that I loved you. I should have. I do love you.

Who am I? Well, I'm Ann.

I could list all of the things I am, may age, my job, my degree, where I'm going to grad school, that I love coffee... but all those things are listed in my profile, so I won't. Honestly, it'll do no good anyway. Like everyone else, I am a whole laundry list of things, and none of them is really who I am.

I will tell you that I do not write non-fiction well, hence the desire to try a few LJ Idol prompts from time to time. Give me a character I can crawl into and I am fine, but to crawl into my own mind and push words out from my own point of view... that's something entirely different, terrifying.

We'll see how it goes.

But I do know that I love you, whoever you are, even when you don't love me.


amergina: (Default)

April 2012

1516 1718192021


RSS Atom

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags