the bearded and the bell,

Good morning, I hope wherever you are, there are strings of happiness pulling clouds away.  High as birds, humble as petals.  The other day,  ribs carried belly folds, and we found ourselves in the woods.   Beside the wild Oak, there exists doughy white petals.  Below the soft sod, land slugs wiggle and pebbles sleep.  
If I could pull the lumber, and build myself a home here, I would.

monkeyshines, and banjo grooming. This is where I belong.   When I was a child, small boned, and fragile like a soap bubble, I dreamed of this place.   A home where the curtains of eye lids are naked, where the pinholes see boots, grass, milkweed, fingers, and wild flowers. A place where hair flows over ear pockets, and the only sounds are those of laughter, unbroken creek beds, and folk tunes.   Until now, it was only a pipe dream... 
...On our way to the shrubbery,  a wild rabbit bumbled past us...

Carter, the one with the cap and the gentle hands, sometimes fetching a beard when he's not baking. He's the one who pressed my fingers upon silver strings. He's the one who displays the Banjo on my lap.  If it weren't for Carter, I'd never carry an instrument.   The only sound would be a singing voice. My song would only be a drifting echo.  With Carter's hands, and heart, I am very awake.
 In the forests of enchantment, we surrender our stale worries. The tree tops, and the long grass forgive our tender bellies.  If it weren't for the woodland, I'd never know a true companion.

If your sitting in your chair, dreaming of composing, or singing, or hearing heart strings wallow against wood. Pick up the closest instrument, or find one.  There is nothing, so softening, so ethereal, so delicate, as the way one feels when plucking a string, pressing a key, blowing a horn, socking a drum, or dressing as the canary.  I've spent every bit of my life, building castles out of clay, and woolgathering dreams of Music making.   Now, I spend my days building dreams of taverns, folk clubs, fields, festivals, and strawberry jam sessions.

The sphere of shrubbery sits with me.  After a day of melody, and tree chambers, I feel alive for days. If only the sun always set high in the forest,  if only everyday was this softhearted, I'd never fear the Moon running away.   
Tonight, I've been craving warm soap, and the imaginary sea beneath a bubble bath.

Tomorrow, I'll drink apple juice, shine the room, play banjo, eat cream of wheat with maple, and maybe wander back into that crooked woodland...
I think I should have no other mortal wants, if I could always have plenty of music. It seems to infuse strength into my limbs and ideas into my brain. Life seems to go on without effort, when I am filled with music.
George Eliot.*

Music has charms to soothe the savage breast
To soften rocks, or to bend a knotted oak.
William Congreve.*

what i wore

Floral Dress- Value Village $13
Carter's outfit: All from Value Village
Hair constructed by Mama.

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