In a world of trouble
Years of tears in pain
People of thirst in the pourin' rain
Now I say: There's got to be a better way. . .
Let this morning light our way
All on a rising day
Wrote a song this morning
Sung it out my window
Up and over this world, everywhere the wind blows away
A song about a better day . . .
Sing it for the broken hearts
Sing it for the hungry eyes
Sing it for the homeless face, not so very far away
All on a rising day
Rise up to a morning crystal clear, rise up
From the shadows of doubt and fears
Oh sister and brother, we've got to help one another to find our way . . . All on a rising day
During these past few days, I have been bicycling and driving a substantial amount. I've been moving. All day sweat and sun-rays. I still assert that I am a plant -- all I need is water and sunshine. Most of my periods of daylight pass with little to no food consumed. You might say my food blog would be rather boring now had I updated it.
I have been visiting the past places that I traversed before leaving for the great California. The childhood of James Island, passing along our old home right by the old movie theater, cruising on the connector, seeing the marsh grass unroll before me like a great quilt, with threads of deep-hued blue water weaving in and out. I even passed the place where I ate so many apples and mangoes I felt sick and laid in the cushion-y grass by the hill for an hour. The awakening adolescence of downtown Charleston, and as I describe these places in connection with the times of my life, it hit me: I wasn't revisiting the land, I was revisiting myself.
I crossed a Rubicon of sorts recently. I bicycled 82 miles to Magic City to pick up that old car that me and Tommy ate in, traveled in, slept in -- came to know each other in. I remember being so content, with my companion the happy pine, friendly shoulder-grass waving as I passed, and sighing cloud. I remember the awe I felt as I realized I had covered 10 miles in little under 35 minutes. I remember the hot rain that stopped me in my tracks and caused me to marvel at my body's inability to shed heat at that moment. I drove home in the car, and couldn't help but think how less romantic, how much less shine there was in the car as opposed to the bicycle. This juxtaposition was as stark as the waters of that Rubicon I had just crossed.
I had the great gift of having legs that could carry me through the Charleston clouds and mist, along with all of their mystery and reverie. I had watched it pour heavily outside through floor-to-ceiling windows, and I emerged happy and prepared. I assembled my bicycle and took to the road, as I veered right onto Meeting Street, I gave a little whoop to warn a driver of my presence, and it triggered the memory of a song with a similar whoop of joy in it. The old violin player in my head began a-fiddlin'. As the sound played in my mind, I soaked up all the sunshine I could, each patch on the road, shining between the standing rail-cars. Each ray of light blissfully eaten up by my hungry hungry soul. I even saw the glow of the leaves as I approached the bridge over the Ashley River. The sun had hidden itself, and given the foliage their time to shine. Look closely, and you will see it. Subtle holiness. All of nature was hallowed in my eyes as I passed through soggy North Charleston.
Years of tears in pain
People of thirst in the pourin' rain
Now I say: There's got to be a better way. . .
Let this morning light our way
All on a rising day
Wrote a song this morning
Sung it out my window
Up and over this world, everywhere the wind blows away
A song about a better day . . .
Sing it for the broken hearts
Sing it for the hungry eyes
Sing it for the homeless face, not so very far away
All on a rising day
Rise up to a morning crystal clear, rise up
From the shadows of doubt and fears
Oh sister and brother, we've got to help one another to find our way . . . All on a rising day
During these past few days, I have been bicycling and driving a substantial amount. I've been moving. All day sweat and sun-rays. I still assert that I am a plant -- all I need is water and sunshine. Most of my periods of daylight pass with little to no food consumed. You might say my food blog would be rather boring now had I updated it.
I have been visiting the past places that I traversed before leaving for the great California. The childhood of James Island, passing along our old home right by the old movie theater, cruising on the connector, seeing the marsh grass unroll before me like a great quilt, with threads of deep-hued blue water weaving in and out. I even passed the place where I ate so many apples and mangoes I felt sick and laid in the cushion-y grass by the hill for an hour. The awakening adolescence of downtown Charleston, and as I describe these places in connection with the times of my life, it hit me: I wasn't revisiting the land, I was revisiting myself.
I crossed a Rubicon of sorts recently. I bicycled 82 miles to Magic City to pick up that old car that me and Tommy ate in, traveled in, slept in -- came to know each other in. I remember being so content, with my companion the happy pine, friendly shoulder-grass waving as I passed, and sighing cloud. I remember the awe I felt as I realized I had covered 10 miles in little under 35 minutes. I remember the hot rain that stopped me in my tracks and caused me to marvel at my body's inability to shed heat at that moment. I drove home in the car, and couldn't help but think how less romantic, how much less shine there was in the car as opposed to the bicycle. This juxtaposition was as stark as the waters of that Rubicon I had just crossed.
I had the great gift of having legs that could carry me through the Charleston clouds and mist, along with all of their mystery and reverie. I had watched it pour heavily outside through floor-to-ceiling windows, and I emerged happy and prepared. I assembled my bicycle and took to the road, as I veered right onto Meeting Street, I gave a little whoop to warn a driver of my presence, and it triggered the memory of a song with a similar whoop of joy in it. The old violin player in my head began a-fiddlin'. As the sound played in my mind, I soaked up all the sunshine I could, each patch on the road, shining between the standing rail-cars. Each ray of light blissfully eaten up by my hungry hungry soul. I even saw the glow of the leaves as I approached the bridge over the Ashley River. The sun had hidden itself, and given the foliage their time to shine. Look closely, and you will see it. Subtle holiness. All of nature was hallowed in my eyes as I passed through soggy North Charleston.
