Fall Fiction

The leaves crunched under the rubber soles of her shoes as she carefully and swiftly walked across the greenish-brown lawn on the south side of the park property. The sun was shining and the sky was so blue it made the sun shine brighter, enough to make her slip on her sunglasses as she eyed a nearby tree to sit under. She noticed a woman on the far side of the lawn painting or drawing a landscape and a young couple walking a small dog. It was a beautiful day to be outside and to be inspired.

She rolled out her patchwork blanket under the medium-large tree she found. There was nothing unordinary about this tree, as all the trees in the park were medium-large and losing their leaves as this one was. After unrolling her blanket, she sat to observe and to soak up the sunshine a little while longer. She saw a few more people jogging and walking along the path. She could hear children laughing and shouting, and she strained her eyes to see bits of the playground through the line of trees to her right. The sun warmed her, and she peeled off her sweater before unlatching her case and removing her instrument.

She wondered if she would write a new song about this day: the weather, the unspoken stories of the people around her, or the animals that she had observed. Maybe she would sing a familiar song and someone would walk by and sing along silently. Maybe she would sing a song that was familiar to herself so she could be alone. She laid her fingers across the strings and started playing a melancholy song. The enigma of the melody twisted around her hand, went straight into her heart where it lingered only for a few seconds before bumping off her tongue and exiting through her teeth as words. The words flowed naturally, as if someone was whispering them for her to repeat for the birds or the dogs or the people around her to hear but not fully understand.

The Mask I wear becomes me.
I become the Mask I wear.
They don’t really know.
They don’t care to know.
Their Masks become them, too.

You are you and I am me.
You be you, and I’ll be me.
Do what’s you,
Be who you want to be,
Set free.
Then we can be we,
When you are you and I am me.

The Walrus and the Carpenter
by Lewis Carroll

The sun was shining on the sea,
Shining with all his might:
He did his very best to make
The billows smooth and bright--
And this was odd, because it was
The middle of the night.

The moon was shining sulkily,
Because she thought the sun
Had got no business to be there
After the day was done--
"It's very rude of him," she said,
"To come and spoil the fun!"


The sea was wet as wet could be,
The sands were dry as dry.
You could not see a cloud, because
No cloud was in the sky:
No birds were flying overhead--
There were no birds to fly.

The Walrus and the Carpenter
Were walking close at hand;
They wept like anything to see
Such quantities of sand:
"If this were only cleared away,"
They said, "it would be grand!"

"If seven maids with seven mops
Swept it for half a year.
Do you suppose," the Walrus said,
"That they could get it clear?"
"I doubt it," said the Carpenter,
And shed a bitter tear.

"O Oysters, come and walk with us!"
The Walrus did beseech.
"A pleasant walk, a pleasant talk,
Along the briny beach:
We cannot do with more than four,
To give a hand to each."

The eldest Oyster looked at him,
But never a word he said:
The eldest Oyster winked his eye,
And shook his heavy head--
Meaning to say he did not choose
To leave the oyster-bed.

But four young Oysters hurried up,
All eager for the treat:
Their coats were brushed, their faces washed,
Their shoes were clean and neat--
And this was odd, because, you know,
They hadn't any feet.

Four other Oysters followed them,
And yet another four;
And thick and fast they came at last,
And more, and more, and more--
All hopping through the frothy waves,
And scrambling to the shore.

The Walrus and the Carpenter
Walked on a mile or so,
And then they rested on a rock
Conveniently low:
And all the little Oysters stood
And waited in a row.

"The time has come," the Walrus said,
"To talk of many things:
Of shoes--and ships--and sealing-wax--
Of cabbages--and kings--
And why the sea is boiling hot--
And whether pigs have wings."

"But wait a bit," the Oysters cried,
"Before we have our chat;
For some of us are out of breath,
And all of us are fat!"
"No hurry!" said the Carpenter.
They thanked him much for that.

"A loaf of bread," the Walrus said,
"Is what we chiefly need:
Pepper and vinegar besides
Are very good indeed--
Now if you're ready, Oysters dear,
We can begin to feed."

"But not on us!" the Oysters cried,
Turning a little blue.
"After such kindness, that would be
A dismal thing to do!"
"The night is fine," the Walrus said.
"Do you admire the view?

"It was so kind of you to come!
And you are very nice!"
The Carpenter said nothing but
"Cut us another slice:
I wish you were not quite so deaf--
I've had to ask you twice!"

"It seems a shame," the Walrus said,
"To play them such a trick,
After we've brought them out so far,
And made them trot so quick!"
The Carpenter said nothing but
"The butter's spread too thick!"

"I weep for you," the Walrus said:
"I deeply sympathize."
With sobs and tears he sorted out
Those of the largest size,
Holding his pocket-handkerchief
Before his streaming eyes.

"O Oysters," said the Carpenter,
"You've had a pleasant run!
Shall we be trotting home again?'
But answer came there none--
And this was scarcely odd, because
They'd eaten every one.

A Melody in Four-Four Time

Stars Climb Up The Vine-
Meg Baird


Sometimes the thing that speaks best to me is a song or two.

I sit in a room alone, or my car while driving for a long time, turn on an epic chorus in a Mumford and Sons song or a lilting strings section in a Keely Smith ballade or a steady heavenly beat in a Psalter's song or a floating melody in a Trespasser's William song and then let the moment speak for itself.

I am a big fan of words, but sometimes words get in the way of melodies and harmonies and rhythms and true expression. Sometimes I can only express my state of being by asking someone to listen to a certain song with me.

Another great moment is when, although pretty rare, I can write a song that expresses me. This is harder for me than identifying someone else's lyrics and melodies as ones that express exactly what I wish to express.

Right now, though (if you desire to share it with me), I am listening to the song listed at the beginning of this post and the music speaks precisely to who I am at this very moment. You can find the song on Daytrotter: http://www.daytrotter.com/dt/meg-baird-concert/20030761-3738132.html