Plague Journal, Turning Point & Precipice
Tomorrow officially Fall begins. It has been a hot dry summer, with a big deficit in moisture. When the maples shed leaves on account of heat stress I take note. I am ready for Fall. Should we not celebrate seasonal change by gathering a few friends together for quiet conversation, for sharing a found or a written poem, as we sip some plum wine? That is what the ancient Chinese would have done. They’d have commissioned a painting to commemorate the auspicious occasion. The painting would display the custom hanko stamp of each guest present, and the calligraphic rendering of the poems read for the occasion. Would not such a propitious gathering further humanize us, reminding us that we are “insiders,” participants in the dance of climate, in the procession of the seasons?
I stood in my driveway in the early evening, to capture these photos of the clouds racing past a harvest moon. Those minutes, smelling the scent of coming rain, eyes lifted to the moon which by our suns reflected light, traced the passing clouds in white light — were transcendent.
Yesterday at the end of the day this news from China. According to the New York Times:
Once China’s most prolific property developer, Evergrande has become the country’s most indebted company. It owes money to lenders, suppliers and foreign investors. It owes unfinished apartments to home buyers and has racked up more than $300 billion in unpaid bills. Evergrande faces lawsuits from creditors and has seen its shares lose more than 80 percent of their value this year.
Regulators fear that the collapse of a company Evergrande’s size would send tremors through the entire Chinese financial system. Yet so far, Beijing has not stepped in with a bailout, having promised to teach debt-saddled corporate giants a lesson.
No wonder that Xi Jinping is having second thoughts about capitalism.
And this tune is offered for our contemplation of lyric, for the tactile experience of the notes flowing from the instruments, from the headwaters-of-the soul of the musicians…
Every Rose Has Its Thorn
by Poison
We both lie silently still in the dead of the night
Although we both lie close together we feel miles apart inside
Was it something I said or something I did?
Did my words not come out right?
Though I tried not to hurt you
Though I tried
But I guess that’s why they say
[Chorus:]
Every rose has its thorn
Just like every night has its dawn
Just like every cowboy sings his sad, sad song
Every rose has its thorn
Yeah it does
I listen to our favorite song playing on the radio
Hear the DJ say love’s a game of easy come and easy go
But I wonder does he know?
Has he ever felt like this?
And I know that you’d be here right now
If I could have let you know somehow
I guess
[Chorus]
Though it’s been a while now
I can still feel so much pain
Like a knife that cuts you the wound heals
But the scar, that scar remains
I know I could have saved a love that night if I’d known what to say
Instead of makin’ love we both made our separate ways
And now I hear you found somebody new
And that I never meant that much to you
To hear that tears me up inside
And to see you cuts me like a knife
I guess
Composed by: B. Dall, B. Michaels, R. Rocket, C.c. Deville
2 thoughts on “Plague Journal, Turning Point & Precipice”
Almost every Sunday afternoon during Covid, several friends have gathered at the top of my drive. (No, we did not meet during the coldest months). Last Sunday 13 of us discussed “What Brings You Joy?” There was iced tea…it was a hot day!…and packaged snacks. No plum wine! When it gets cold a few have sipped Angel’s Envy.
Paradise at the top of the driveway.