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After the Rains

Red Rain

My Kitchen Table

The Blue ClothBlue butterflies cover my kitchen table.

They fly across a field of lighter blue.  Each insect is trimmed in black and brightened by spots of golden green.  The cloth upon which they flit I purchased to make a square sewn into a good friend’s quilt.  The remainder now graces my table, with the butterflies there to greet me as I sit down to write … or as is more often the case … to simply sip a cup of tea and stare out into the day.

Voice from Afar Poems of Peace

Voice from Afar Poems of Peace

Four postcards, two each of the following images taken along the Charles River, one of my favorite photography sites.  Send mailing address to photosbycynthia[at]gmail.com.

Charles River Fish in SunlightLillies on the Charles

Sorry, U.S. destinations only at this time.

Acorns After the Rain

The Nave Gallery in Somerville is having a 5-year anniversary bash on October 15.  Tickets are just $5.  There’ll be music, food and even a birthday cake.  The party starts at 7pm.

http://www.artsomerville.org/event/2009/nave@5.html

Bright Leaves on Branch

Have you ever listened to Barber’s Adagio for Strings?  If so, what did you experience?

I have never forgotten my first time.  I must have been sixteen or seventeen.  Still in high school.  Sitting in the dark of the living room while the family watched Oliver Stone’s Platoon.  Stone’s words delivered by the actors, the cinematographer’s vision executed on screen, the historical context, and that music wrapping it all together.  I wish I could better explain the power of that moment and why today that music brings me to tears.

As a writer, I sometimes listen to music to help ground me or to help me tap into an emotional space.  Barber’s Adago helps me to pause, to breathe, and be carried away by the lines of music.  I have read that it is considered one of the saddest pieces of music ever.  Even sadness, perhaps especially sadness, we need to explore on occasion in writing, in music, in words, in pictures.  As a friend of my has a penchant for saying, “It’ll make you stronger.”

As a child I was shy.  In elementary schools, I often spent time by myself in the library, roaming through the stacks.   The librarians took pity on me.  Sometimes, one of them would catch my eyes, smile at me and say softly, “Come with me.”  She’d take me to a magical place — the room holding the unshelved new books.  “Pick one,” she’d say.  “Whichever one you like.”  I was not so well-read that I knew authors by name, but usually some combination of title and cover art would entice me in my selection.  That was how I selected the first book in Patricia McKillip’s Riddlemaster Trilogy.  Today, if you were to catch me off-guard and say, “Quick!  Tell me the titles of your favorite books.”  I would say The Riddlemaster and after that I might say McKillip’s The Forgotten Beasts of Eld.  Twenty, thirty years later, I cannot tell you the specific storylines of any of these books but I can tell you of the memories she left me with through her words.  I can tell you of the images implanted in my mind of lush forests, crashing seas, loyal beasts.  I can tell you of the music evoked by her characters.  Her writing is lyrical, deep and rich.  It is that lyricism, depth and richness that I hope to rediscover this winter by re-reading her books.  Some of the books I own and must dig out of a box.  Others I will have to track down at local used book stores and at my public library.  When I am done, perhaps I will give them to a young relative or to someone older who is young at heart.  We’ll see. 😉