I called Anne today to see if I could drop her poster by and pick up my lost earring. Peter answered and I was overjoyed to discover that he was back home.
He's been in Portland for the past three weeks taking care of his best friend, Ali, who was very ill. Ali died on Sunday.
It took a while for it to sink in that Peter was really back and I'm afraid I acted gloriously happy. So much for my powers of empathy.
Walking on the beach this evening I heard this song: The Waters of March.
Have you ever heard it? It's mysterious and haunting and sad but somehow joy is right there, too. I just downloaded two versions, one by Holly Cole and one by Cassandra Wilson. The words were written by Antonio Carlos Jobim:
a stick, a stone
it's the end of the road
it's the rest of the stump
it's a little alone
it's a sliver of glass
it is life, it's the sun
it is night, it is death
it's a trap, it's a gun
the oak when it blooms
a fox in the brush
the knot of the wood
the song of the thrush
the word of the wind
the cliff, a fall
a scratch, a lump
it is nothing at all
it's the wind blowing free
it's the end of a slope
it's a beam, it's a void
it's a hunch, it's a hope
and the riverbank talks
of the waters of march
it's the end of the strain
it's the joy in your heart
the foot, the ground
the flesh and the bone
the beat of the road
a slingshot stone
a truckload of bricks
in the soft morning light
the shot of the gun
in the dead of the night
a mile, a must
a thrust, a bump
it's a girl, it's a rhyme
it's a cold, it's the mumps
the plan of the house
the body in bed
and the car that got stuck
it's the mud, it's the mud
a float, a drift
a flight, a wing
a cock, a quail
oh, the promise of spring
and the riverbank talks
of the waters of march
it's the promise of life
it's the joy in your heart
a point, a grain
a bee, a bite
a blink, a buzzard
a sudden stroke of night
a pin, a needle
a sting, a pain
a snail, a riddle
a wasp, a stain
a snake, a stick
it is john, it is joe
a fish, a flash
a silvery glow
the bed of the well
the end of the line
the dismay on the face
it's a loss, it's a find
a spear, a spike
a point, a nail
a drip, a drop
the end of the day
and the river bank talks
of the waters of march
it's the promise of life
it's the joy in your heart
the end of the road
a little alone
a sliver of glass
a life, the sun
a night, a death
the end of the run
and the river bank talks
of the waters of march
it's the promise of life
it's the joy in your heart
