It’s Time

Posted on June 8, 2026 by merrildsmith

Monday Morning Musings

It’s Time

“Among the things Billy Pilgrim could not change were the past, the present, and the future.”
― Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse-Five

“All time is all time. It does not change. It does not lend itself to warnings or explanations. It simply is.
— Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse-Five

I time-travel in memory, dreams, through

neuron portals, pages of books
shape-shifting, step-tracing

cloud-chasing, moon-racing

how sad to always be here (or not)

how sad not to remember—or care
about now—or then–

or who

whatever,

it happened,
the hate, the wars, the one to end all,
the ones that preceded,
the ones that followed,

though some will try to erase the pages,
burn the books, arrest the artists,
demonize the designated “others”—Jews,
immigrants, people of color, LBGTQ—

the cosplaying Nazis
have become real,
storm troopers douse rainbows
lightning bolts
bisect hearts

where have all the flowers gone?

Long time passing.

The flowers die to grow again.
The rabbits, chicks, and goslings come again.

Most parents protect,
instill “life lessons,” as my niece says,

(though some should never be parents, as
we all know.)

Still,
even the best, must let their fledglings go . . .

Time was and is.
Time will be—

Time is passing, time flows,
and we are the specks, the drops,
the rain and rivers, earth and sea.

So, it goes.

Hello again! Well, another week. On the positive side, I got to watch so many goslings! I was worried because I hadn’t seen many, but it seems they simply arrived later this year. I watched the two in the video, who had minds of their own, as their parents tried to get them to the river. Then I think I saw the same two the next day also as their parents tried to corral them. Sometimes parenting seems universal. 😂

But the world is a hot mess, as everyone who is paying attention knows. Every network, every newspaper, journalists everywhere should be calling out how insane the current regime is. None of this is normal!! Kristen Welker did calmly call him out, and he lied, acted like a spoiled toddler ,and walked out. I can’t keep track of the craziness. It’s been nonstop since he took office, but now it’s at a whole new level of insane. His Flag Day/ birthday celebration with the UFC monstrosity erected on the South Lawn of the White House? It’s shocking and disgusting, and probably illegal. You can read more here and here.

One of my senators, Sen. Andy Kim, has gone back to Delaney Hall –where he was pepper-sprayed—to check on conditions there again. He wasn’t allowed to speak to any of the people detained there, but what he saw concerned him (for example, an obviously ill woman).

My husband and I participated in two protests this week—one outside of a Citizens Bank. Citizens Bank funds the GEO Group, the organization the operates Delaney Hall and some other private prisons. There were a few MAGA types who called out, angry and obnoxious. But it’s only a few. Besides middle fingers and F- Yous, their big important comments were, “get a job (or life). And one guy who just kept yelling, “when was the last time you got laid?” Like, WTF? We’re protesting concentration camp funding, but he’s more concerned with showing he’s some kind of macho man. MAGA showing us who they are, right? But then there was a father and daughter who came and briefly joined our group. Someone told me they were from S. Carolina, and the girl wanted to join our protest while the mother was inside Wawa (a convenience store). I love that this will be part of her story; that she’ll be able to say remember that time when we were on vacation, and I helped and stood on the right side of history?

The other protest was our local Sunday morning protest. I think that one gets more positive reactions.

I’m not virtue-signaling here. I’m not doing the hard work out there like some people are, and I know it. I’m simply saying what I’m doing, as well as using my voice on this blog and in my poetry. I know not everyone can go out and protest. No one can do everything, but everyone can do something. Pick something you can do—call/write your Congress critters, donate money and/or supplies, write letters or postcards, help with voter drives, and combat dis and misinformation with facts. Here’s a roundup of mobilization events coming up. You can also check Mobilize and Indivisible for events where you are.

As you may have gathered, I re-read Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut. I may have more to say about it in a future post. I remembered, too, the journalist Linda Ellerbee, who used to end her shows with “So, it goes.”

We went to the first Vino and Vibes of the summer at William Heritage Winery. It was at the start of hot weather here, but not humid, and there was a nice breeze, so it was quite comfortable. The next few days got hotter, though still not terribly humid, but we did put on the a/c. On Saturday afternoon, after the protest, we went to Buzby Farm. This is the farm that provides our wonderful weekly share. Every year they have an open house, where those with shares can pick some strawberries for free, and enjoy strawberry shortcake and lemonade. We didn’t go for the tour this year because we’d had enough sun by then!

We finished Margo’s Got Money Troubles. We ended up really enjoying it and getting invested in the characters. We’re still watching Widow’s Bay (episodes drop on Wednesdays), and we just started The Boroughs, which does seem kind of like Stranger Things with older people. I want to see where it’s going.

And speaking of going, it’s time.

Look for the helpers and be one if you can.

Ghosts of Blue(s)

Posted on February 3, 2025 by merrildsmith

Monday Morning Musings

Ghosts of Blue(s)

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of light, it was the season of darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair.”
― Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities

I saw the ghosts of democracy,
there at the river, Ice-caught,
drifting in blue,

as shadows fought
and danced with light

there on Philadelphia’s cobblestone streets
where once men yelled NO to tyranny,
while enslaved humans
cooked their meals
and shared their beds,

and they were the best of times
and the worst,

when Union soldiers fought,
and women demanded the vote,
when workers organized
and marched for decent wages
and safe conditions,

those were the best of times,
and the worst

we thought came with yellow fever, influenza,
and polio,
the Great Depression, and a war
that circled the globe–and

devils walked among us
in death camps, in the rubble–

and dropped bombs

rose as massive, mutant mushrooms,
the worst of times,

but we had sit-ins and sit downs,
we had a Civil Rights movement,
Roe v. Wade, and love is love is love is love

is love,
the best,

we had?

And now,
we scatter roses, ignore
the ghosts that are everywhere,

as vultures loom
and songbirds sing,

they plead, they warn, they remember

when the sky was grey,
then all the thousand shades, cobalt
to cerulean,

and we warbled the hymns,
and moaned the blues

through the best of times,
and the worst.

Hello again. There’s no way to sugar-coat it. We’re in the midst of a coup. I don’t know why people aren’t marching in the streets all throughout the US. Did anyone vote for President Musk? Did anyone vote for him and his minions to take your federal financial and personal data? Apparently, six young men (ages 19-24) now hold your social security and other information. Did you vote for that? Call your representatives, call the media, call everyone. I suspect those who only watch or read right-wing media do not know what is happening. Tell them!! Musk and his minions are taking over the government. People are being fired, and programs are being cut to make allow for tax cuts for billionaires. Did you vote for that? For people to die of cancer and HIV because programs are being cut? AND, for the record, Doge is NOT a department. It does NOT have legal authority to do what it is doing.
You can read summaries by Heather Cox Richardson and Joyce Vance, which include sources for my statements.

But breathe. Hug your loved ones. Find beauty and joy.

We actually went out this past week.

Thursday night was Book Club at Blue Cork Winery. We discussed, One Big Happy Family,
which none of us liked (and it’s a diverse group), but it was a very enjoyable evening. I haven’t read Susan Mallery before, but I discovered she’s a very popular author. The plot was very predictable, and some of it was just ridiculous. I understand the appeal of a fluffy, happily-ever-after book, but for me, it must have something more.

I also read, The Empusium: A Health Resort Horror Story by Noble Prize Winner, Olga Tokarczuk, translated by Antonia Lloyd-Jones.

which was very strange and disturbing but grew compelling after a while. The book is about a sensitive but passive young man who is diagnosed with tuberculous and comes to stay at a gentleman’s rest house to be treated at a sanitarium in Silesia. It was a real place; the ruins of which still exist. Here the other men pontificate on the superiority of men over women. The author notes in an afterward that she has paraphrased the misogynistic statements of famous male authors and philosophers from the ancient Greeks on. But in the forest, there is a wild feminine energy that can become violent, too.

I like books that make me think.

On Saturday, we saw the world premiere of Holy Grail of Memphis, a play by Michael Hollinger by the Arden Theatre, which is the 10th play of his that the company has performed.

From the Web site:

Synopsis
When Newton Stover II discovers the long-lost recordings of a legendary bluesman in the basement of his granddaddy’s rundown music studio, he resolves to rebuild his life and legacy. But time and money are running out fast, and the ghosts of the past — and an unexpected stranger — keep showing up. Holy Grail of Memphis is a new comedy by Philadelphia playwright Michael Hollinger about embracing the future, releasing what haunts us, and singing the blues.

Holy Grail of Memphis

We enjoyed the show very much, which we discussed over glasses of Nero d’Avola (a new favorite!) at Old City Vino.

Yesterday (Sunday), Blue Cork hosted a special event for members. We sat with our daughter and son-in-law and enjoyed the wine tastings and food. We had a preview taste of a brand new wine created by owners’ son.

Look for the helpers and be one if you can.

Lighthouses

Posted on November 11, 2024 by merrildsmith

Monday Morning Musings:

Lighthouses

“The work of art stands up by itself, and nothing else does. It achieves something which has often been promised by society, but always delusively. Ancient Athens made a mess — but the Antigone stands up. Renaissance Rome made a mess — but the ceiling of the Sistine got painted. James I made a mess — but there was Macbeth. Louis XIV — but there was Phèdre. Art… is the one orderly product which our muddling race has produced. It is the cry of a thousand sentinels, the echo from a thousand labyrinths; it is the lighthouse which cannot be hidden.”
–E.M. Forster, Two Cheers for Democracy quoted in The Marginalian

“This is precisely the time when artists go to work.”
—Toni Morrison

In a fever, fools flowered,
seeded by fury,

they unfurled flags of fabulation,
fluttered petals in adoration, and now

glasses are less than half full,
joyful dancers have stumbled,
some will fall.

The world has become rough wool,
uncomfortable, itchy—where is soft flannel joy,
the smooth silk of kindness?

A mirthless clown smirks
from the fun house mirrors,
smoke fills the air,

but the sun comes up again, there is light
and an endless blue river flowing

to the sea. There are beacons,
though cloud-hidden, pointing the way,

and more to build
lighthouses in every sheltered cove
above any remote, rocky shore,
and planted on plazas and fields,

collective light, Morse code flashes
and sharp, laser beams
of hope. Promise and beauty
in words and songs, a mural to meliorism.

There are more of us than them.

Well, has it only been a week? Today is Veterans Day, which began as Armistice Day after what would become known as WWI—because then came WWII. And here we are, not at war, but we’ve elected an authoritarian leader, a criminal with no impulse control who can make decisions that may impact the world. Last Monday I was filled with hope, and then the unthinkable happened. I’m really not certain how to act or feel when now. On Tuesday, I made bruschetta and my favorite cookies. On Wednesday I wondered what is the correct meal to eat as my country is dying? Come January, do we bake casseroles and hold a wake?

My heart is heavy, and I think we haven’t even imagined how horrible it might get here. I want a Star Ship to appear from the future; I want a superhero to save us, but we have only ourselves and each other.

We are trying to live normally. We tasted wine; we had brunch with friends. We have our kittens to make us smile. It’s hard not to laugh when Ollie runs in a circle trying to catch his tail, or they run and tumble, or sleep together in a basket.

Yesterday the air was filled with smoke from wildfires. We stayed indoors. We were supposed to see a play, but Doug wasn’t feeling well, so we exchanged our tickets for another date. We had Chinese food for dinner.

These were our fortunes, almost like they were picked just for us.

I will continue to walk and find beauty, as long as I’m able to, and I will share it. Because they will try to destroy even that. I will build a lighthouse here. Watch for the light—and share it.

If this is Magic, Let it Heal

Posted on August 26, 2024 by merrildsmith

Monday Morning Musings:

If this is Magic, let it Heal

The moon is a white coracle
floating on a sea of chicory blue,

a blue moon, a bird moon,

plumes of mist call geese home
to spread marmalade across
a toasted horizon—

the Earth pauses,
heron-still

but then, the egrets like
white-winged ballerinas soar,

the deer gambol, graze, glean
from wind-breath, sigh as
the river kisses the beach,

while the stones, used to tumbling,
wait

they sense the dragons,
hear them roar, feel their heat
beneath the surface greened with life

but,
dragons cannot live with kitten-joy,
with doggy-grins,

with hope,
with love,

with red wine spilled instead of blood–
as offering
to our loved ones

who slayed dragons,
broke glass ceilings,
brought brilliant blooms
of poppy-red and sunflower yellow
to life,

our legacy to sit amongst jewels
under a sapphire sky.

We had beautiful weather this past week, and we turned our a/c off until it got warmer over the weekend. Saturday would have been my mom’s 102nd birthday. We went to a wine festival nearby with our daughter and son-in-law, and after some tasting, sat with our friends in the shade. My mom would have loved it, and though this year, I didn’t make a chocolate cake, we did drink to her, and later tried some delicious chocolate our daughter brought us from their recent trip to Ireland.

Yesterday, we finally let the kittens explore the house. They were very cautious for a while, and afraid to come downstairs, but then they ran around so much, that they were exhausted and slept under the sofa for much of the afternoon.

Donations are flowing into the Harris-Walz campaign. More people, especially young women, are registering to vote. Republicans are endorsing Harris-Walz.

From Heather Cox Richardson’s letter, “conservative jurist J. Michael Luttig, who endorsed Harris on Wednesday and wrote: “In voting for Vice President Harris, I assume that her public policy views are vastly different from my own, but I am indifferent in this election on any issues other than America’s Democracy, the Constitution, and the Rule of Law, as I believe all Americans should be.”

Don’t let the momentum fade! Vote Blue!!

Wake, Listen to the Wild Heart of If

Posted on August 12, 2024 by merrildsmith

Monday Morning Musings:

Wake, Listen to the Wild Heart of If

“A tone traveling through space has no referent,
and yet we infer, and yet it
finds its way between our cells
and shakes us.”
–from Hannah Fries, “Let the Last Thing Be Song”

What is the sound of star music,
of our own star, moon,
the clouds?

A grumbling grey cloud must sing a different song
than billowing duvets of white
or persimmon and mango streaks
in the morning sky.

Jupiter’s song must differ from Venus’s,
from Earth’s fulsome voices,

melodic and percussive bird flutes, tree sough,
sea susurrus, bee buzz,

the flowers that
nod their heads, lean in
to whisper and giggle. Listen.

Now a fawn bleats for her mother in
the cat-purr of gloaming, a buck stands with shy, youthful majesty
dawn dazzles with dusty rose, carnation,
and daffodils, smiling,

the laughter of stars caught on
goose feathers, adrift in the sky,
rising, falling, floating,

floating like a breath
held, released.

Sometimes I’m amazed by how full of magic the world is—and how connected
and interconnected it is. I read about Margaret Watts Hughes in The Marginalian. She was a well-know vocalist in the 19th century who created what she called “voice figures” from the sound of her voice—paintings of abstract forms and flowers. And I thought of how scientists have recorded sound from space and nature sounds here, and how color is light that we perceive (some people more than others), but that some people might hear, or feel like I do that, that I can sometimes almost taste it. . .things I need to ponder some more.

I consulted the Oracle for my title.

I know there are riots, murders, the extreme crisis our climate is facing, and demagogues in the US and elsewhere trying to impose authoritarian regimes, but after days of horrible steam bath air, rain, storms, and a tornado watch, I saw a beautiful sunrise, a family of deer, and a young eagle circling over the river. The seeds our veterinarian’s office sent after Ricky died are starting to bloom with tiny flowers, and we’re supposed to get two kittens very soon. There are awful, tragic things going on in our world, but there is such beauty—fragile as it is.

We’re so caught up in the show Fringe, which we started re-watching after Ricky died. I keep thinking we’ll pause to watch something else, but then we don’t. We’re on Season 4 now. I’m re-reading The Sparrow, too. So, my head is probably full of cosmic possibility (more than usual, I mean).

Derrick Knight’s feather might have slipped into my thoughts, too.

On Friday night, we had Chinese food, our tradition on my dad’s birthday because he enjoyed it so much and often treated us at his favorite restaurant. I receive a very optimistic fortune, too.

Last night, I made pizza, using tomatoes from our farm share and basil from our garden. It’s the first time I’ve made pizza in a while because it’s been so hot.

Finally, and I won’t stop reminding people that democracy is on the line here–

People in the US–make certain you’re registered to vote. Some states are purging voter rolls. Right now, the only way to save democracy is to vote Harris-Walz and down ballot Democratic choices. You don’t have to vote blue for the rest of your life, but for now, yes.

“Think of voting as a chess move, not a valentine.”
–Rebecca Solnit

The Flow

Posted on June 17, 2024 by merrildsmith

Monday Morning Musings:

The Flow

“What was it like?” she asks me again. It was like being a leaf in a river. I fell in and was carried along.”
― Ann Patchett, Tom Lake

The leaf greens and browns. It falls,
windswept to sail on a river.

I am the leaf.
I am the river,
time-tossed, fate-flung,
carried, carrying
history in my blood,
stories in my soul.

Shall I tell you
my journey from stars to sea,
boney-spined, clawing the sand,
the dust of sparkling multitudes
flowing within,

glimpsed in eyes still—the twinkle, shine,
burning. The yearning.

My own story, more interesting than some,
less interesting than most, but I can leaf-spin

so that you follow
along the shore to taste the summer-peach sun,
to see a white-flower bride stand in reflection
against an azure sky,

to smell honeysuckle and roses on the breeze,

to hear the mockingbird’s virtuosic aria, and
a cloud-walking crow’s warning

of what could be– but might not. Death circles
like a vulture. The precipice
ever closer, the volcanoes that may erupt,
the deluge that may come—or the drought—

and war, and war, and war, and war. . . .and then
thousands of births, goslings, kittens, humans.

You may be unaware. So I will tell you, listen
for the robin choir before the sun dresses in scarlet,
sip ruby-dark wine, remember antiquity, live now,

the river calls, and I am part of it.
I let it carry me, a leaf, onward.

We’re headed for a heat wave. There is a heat advisory beginning tomorrow, but it was beautiful early this morning, and over the weekend. On Thursday, when we thought it might be too hot, we went to “Vino and Vibes” at William Heritage Winery. It is members’ month, so we had a free glass of wine and a complimentary cheese box, and then bought a bottle of wine while we sat in the shade of still-light early evening.

On Saturday, we picked up our farm market share and walked in the part in Collingswood. Sunday was Father’s Day. Our daughter and her husband took my husband out to a brewery. Our son-in-law graciously consenting to be the DD. Our older child will be visiting later in the month, and they will take my husband to a baseball game.

We watched the movie, Problemista, which we both enjoyed very much. I don’t know comedian Julio Torres’ work, but he wrote and directed it. It’s surreal and has magical realism and fantasy woven through it, but it also conveys the surreal plight of immigrants who must have money to pay lawyers (and to live) but have to find sponsors who don’t pay them. Tilda Swinton gets to do some over-the-top scene chewing.

I read Tom Lake by Ann Padgett. Mothers and daughters, family, theater, summer romance, cherries—what’s not to love here? As a mother on a cherry farm tells her grown daughters the story of her brief love affair with a famous actor, the action switches back and forth from their present (during the Covid lockdown) to the mother’s past the way it might in a conversation. I could imagine telling a story to my own grown children. This was a near-perfect book for me. I might have sighed as I finished it. My Michigan friends might really love this book, too—also anyone who loves Our Town, which I may have to see again or read.

Fold and Gathers

Posted on June 3, 2024 by merrildsmith

Monday Morning Musings:

Folds and Gathers

“The past and present wilt—I have fill’d them, emptied them.
And proceed to fill my next fold of the future.”
–Walt Whitman, Song of Myself, 51

I look from above and from within
turbulent waves, caught in crosscurrents
and riptides,
a herring–

watch me slide red into a school of silver,
one distraction in a multitude of thoughts
cloud-drifting, space-rifting, pausing,
moving on.

I fold and unfold the wrinkled cloth
of time. Try to smooth it, but there are no
neat accordion pleats, it’s crumbled and creased,
the disheveled bedclothes of a restless sleeper

who has tossed pockets of crumbs and treasures,
babies with tired eyes and distended stomachs, roofs
in rubble, purple anguish in blackened streets,

a single red flower, a manifold mix of yellow, pink, violet
and more
multitudinous birds, a kaleidoscope of feathered, chirping hues—
robins fill the dawn with song,
eagles soar with crow chasers,
as the moon is swallowed

by blueberry skies and strawberry dreams, a respite,
a reflection captured in a small lull, a breath caught,
an exhalation, a dog-eared fold, marking a place in time.

We have had several days of perfect weather, but of course, it could not last. This week will be more humid, with a chance of rain and/or thunderstorms. And the downside of beautiful weather and people outdoors—violence at parties and family events. Sometimes I just hate people. Speaking of which, the orange one is now a convicted felon. We heard the news on Thursday afternoon that the jury had decided. This was just before we were leaving for my book club meeting. We listened to NPR in the car, and I was so anxious until I heard guilty on all 34 counts! What that means is yet to be determined, but it was good news for a change. His cult has their minds made up, and nothing will change them, but perhaps it will sway some people.

My daughter hosts a book club that meets at Blue Cork Winery in Williamstown, NJ. The book we read was The Women by Kristin Hannah. (My husband kindly comes as my driver.) I liked the book, maybe not as much as some people, but it sparked a great discussion. This was probably my favorite meeting, as we had a small, lively group, and we got to sit outside on a beautiful evening. The novel is about a woman (more than women, as we all agreed) who was a nurse in Vietnam. The first part of the book was very intense, but also probably the section I enjoyed the most. However, I liked some of the other characters much more than the protagonist. Though I was impressed by what she learned and accomplished in Vietnam, I was also annoyed by first her gung-ho naiveté, and then her series of bad decisions. Still, the book is compelling, and it honors the women who served. Our discussion focused on the era, as much as the book, with my friend Chris and I the oldest members there. Though I only remembered my family protesting the war and had no family members who served there, she had different memories and had a POW bracelet.

I then read Absolution by Alice McDermott. This covers roughly the same era, but it is about the US corporate wives, all White, living in Saigon. It is much more a literary novel, but I think I enjoyed it more. It is written from the point of view of one of those wives much later as she writes to the now grown daughter of one of the other women she knew there. The main character is also naïve, swayed by Charlene (the novel’s most fascinating character) into do-gooder schemes without understanding the consequences, without really understanding anything about the people who live there.

This year we have a weekly farm share from Buzby Farms. We pick it up at the Collingswood Farmers’ Market. On Saturday, they had an open house for their farm share members, which included a tour of the farm, picking strawberries (the free amount determined by your share), and then complimentary lemonade and strawberry shortcake. Our daughter and her friend (who was our older child’s best friend since elementary school) also have shares, and they were there, too. It was such a beautiful day. We took a walking tour of the farm, and we got to see the kiwi berries they grow, the greenhouses with radiant floor heat. They power it with a wood furnace, and the wood comes from branches, dead trees, scraps of wood on the farm, etc. We also saw the hydroponic structure used to grow tomatoes. We were amused by the energetic dog(s) who ran all over the farm. I think everyone, people and dogs, must sleep well at night. It is a family farm owned and managed by two generations. I made a batch of freezer jam with some of the strawberries.

Thank you for all who read this entire post. I got carried away today. 😅

The Light, The Shadows, and the In-between

Posted on November 6, 2023 by merrildsmith

Monday Morning Musings:

The Light, the Shadows, and the Space In-between

“What do we call visible light? We call it color. But the electromagnetic spectrum runs to zero in one direction and infinity in the other, so really, children, mathematically, all of light is invisible.”
― Anthony Doerr, All the Light We Cannot See

“Here I am, standing in the light. And there you are, sitting in the darkness. And this space between us, this space right here of partial illumination, this shadowy space right here – this is a penumbra. The word itself means the space between, like, the full light and the darkness, right? Or it’s actually between the full light and the kind of shadow. So it’s this kind of half-light, half-dark, very shadowy, murky place.”
Heidi Schreck, What the Constitution Means to Me

Let me tell you about October,
its garnet glimmer, its topaz twinkle
that siphons color from bejeweled trees
then slides and shifts with slanted light—

sharp, soft, hazy, bright–
so that the shadows are bewildered
and wonder at the light, and how the two
are never parted, merely out of sight.

But November exists between the shadows
and the light,
neither black nor white,
a place of scattered acorn dreams, halfway to spring.

The space between positive and negative,
the place where dreams breathe
and dare to decide
what happens with our bodies and our lives, where
backstreet whispers vocalized become loud and proud,
included in enumerations. Visible. Or perhaps not quite.

But–the light is always here. The stories not yet written,
but waiting to be told.

As we fall into winter’s black shadows,
pinpricks of light surround us and sparkle–
if joined they would become a supernova. All the light, all that light
we may never see, except within, our brightest dreams.

Well, it’s been quite a week. Halloween to almost Election Day here. And our clocks set back an hour, so that yesterday I was totally confused. It will probably take me a few days to adjust. I hate this switching back and forth.

It got colder on Halloween, but then warmed up for the first weekend in November. We watched the Netflix adaptation of All the Light We Cannot See. It’s only 4 episodes, so we watched two and two. I had read the book years ago, but my husband hadn’t. We both enjoyed it. Aria Mia Loberti as the teenage Marie-Laure is especially impressive in her first professional acting role. The series is at the brink of being overly sentimental and some of it shrieks stereotype, but we still enjoyed it.

On Saturday, we saw What the Constitution Means to Me at the Arden Theatre, which was wonderful! We had seen the filmed stage play a few years ago, but I had forgotten how good it is. If you get a chance see it. I think it’s still on Amazon Prime, at least here in the U.S. Before the performances, we walked around Old City Philadelphia—where the Constitution was written and debated. We saw several wedding parties taking photos around historic sites. If you’re in the US, and you haven’t voted, don’t forget to vote tomorrow. And please, get your news from reliable sources. Well, you know what I believe, and it’s not in Christian Nationalism and the dismantling of our rights.

On Sunday we took an afternoon walk, and then sat outside without jackets at William Heritage Winery.

August Aubade

Posted on August 28, 2023 by merrildsmith

Monday Morning Musings:

Today’s musings are different. Mother Nature seemed to want them to continue the story the Oracle started with the poems Jane and I wrote over the weekend. You can read Jane’s last one here.

August Aubade

There she stands, watching the stars fade–

the sky torches the water
making it glow–
dawn’s ephemeral incandescence–

now feathered, marshmallow clouds
fly in a blueberry sky
so luscious she can almost taste it,

the taste of late summer dreams
drifting from trees swaying to the tune of the wind’s fiddle strings.

“Maybe next summer,” they sing, as starlings twitter.
Messages follow in raucous goose honks
“There is more beyond,” call the crows,

“boundaries ebb and flow with tides. The world is in flux.”

She sips the dark, after-purple of grapes. Their inner secrets
carried through time. It is the scent of dreams and promises.

The wind catches her hair, and it glows in the sunlight.
The rocks catch the waves, and spindrifts sprays in kaleidoscopes of color,

wishes scattered in the air. She recalls there had been love, once. Crushed
like grapes but leaving wine-dark traces.

The chariots of sun and time are obscured by clouds
of dove-white and heron grey,
love waits to perch.

In the shadows at the horizon, she sees a ship.

Just to be clear, the “she” is not me, and I do not sip wine at dawn. However, in other times, people did drink wine and beer in the morning. We did have a lot of wine this weekend though. On Thursday night, I went to Blue Cork Winery where our daughter runs a book club. We had a lively discussion of The Wishing Game.

On Saturday, we attended a local wine festival. We only sampled a few wines, and we didn’t really walk around this time to check out the vendors, though it looked like there were some interesting goods. Our daughter was working at the Blue Cork stand, and we bought a bottle of Petit Verdot, then sat and talked away the afternoon with our friends. I’ve added a Goofy wave for Derrick.

On Sunday, we met our daughter and son-in-law at Kennedy Cellars in Hammonton, NJ. It was a beautiful day to sit outside. Kennedy Cellars is a winery, but not a vineyard. They have a special interest in S. African Pinotage. We all chose different wines for our flights, and we bought bottles of a Pinotage blend and a Sangiovese blend to take home. We also shared a wonderful cheese platter.

This weekend marked anniversaries of the passage of the 19th Amendment (passed in 1920), giving women the right to vote and the 60th anniversary of the 1963 March on Washington. Thousands gathered in Washington, D.C. again. Meanwhile, there was another mass shooting hate crime, this time in Jacksonville, FL. Obviously, the US has a long history of racial injustice, but certain leaders—AND those who voted for them–have brought it out into the open over the past few years. This may be an interesting news week, so I’m going to hold these beautiful sunrises in my mind, and perhaps open some more wine tonight.

Meditation in Blue

Posted on July 17, 2023 by merrildsmith

Monday Morning Musings:

Meditation in Blue

Here is dance across water and sky
mirrored on mirror
wings fly

through light that is and will be
gone and always present

striking like a ball in Newton’s cradle,
dusting us with incandescence—

how I sit as the world soars,
how I am soaring, too—
turning, turning, turning,
each cell a tiny universe

connected through blood, stars, and time,
from almost-nothing–

compressed heat and bouncing photons,
the sun-queen smiles and waves from beneath her crown,

the life-withered not-so-ancient moon breathes mystery
and I almost ask her secrets,

but she has dipped my girl-skin in honey and dried it like leather,
placed a silver nimbus round my head to echo hers–

I know the answers are in bird-winged dancers
draped in blue, and
blossoms reborn like earth souls

again and again. Listen as the river chortles, then sleeps.

We haven’t gone anywhere or done much this week. Every day has been hot, humid, with a chance of thunderstorms, and I only walked outside on a few mornings. One morning, there were so many ospreys, geese, and one cormorant on the river at the park. Yesterday it rained most of the day, and north of Philadelphia where my sister lives there was a tornado warning in the morning. On Saturday, we attended the online launch of Black Bough’s Tutankhamun: Wonderful Things. It was quite full of wonderful things—poetry, art, and music. I am pleased to have one poem in the volume. After the event, my husband and I tasted the last two wines in one of our Master the World wine kits. This time 3 and 6 were both red wines. We really liked the expensive French one.😉 We started season 2 of La Otra Miranda. We’re watching it on PBS Passport.

Yesterday and today: Merril's historical musings

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Meditation in Blue

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