Lullaby for the seasons

The usual: singing a baby to sleep.  I found myself singing a song whose words are completely inappropriate to sing to other people's children, and messed around until I had something that was less inappropriate, though still kind of melancholy, maybe even morbid, I don't know.  I do this a lot now.  I also make up more cheerful songs that the children are actually meant to get into, but they're on the order of "Boom says Valerie, boom boom boom: Boom says Valerie all over the room."

The poetry of it is not really the best, but it's singable: I know because I had to sing it like ten times for that kid to sleep soundly enough to put down, and my arm went to sleep.

Tune is "Tom O'Bedlam"

The flower that blooms in april

The flower that blooms in April
so light and bright and airy
nods its head and winks its eye
by May is spent quite fairly

chours now and after every verse
still I see the hills the hills the light in the hills so early
glaring in the sun and blurring in the wind when the rain comes down severely

In June its petals wither
so pale and soft and pliant
it falls to the ground among the leaves
and disappears all silent

All thoughout the summer
the seeds grow dry and hard
In August the pods twist open
and the seeds are blown quite far

September you can see no sign
of leaf or flower or seed
while fires sweep across the hills
to clear them all of weeds

The rain comes on slowly
in the waning of the year
green leaf bursts through the soil
winter time is here

The leaf that springs in January
dares to survive the flood
by February's waning
is sheltering the bud

The bud that breaks in Mark
surviving chilly showers
revealing up til April's time
the earnest open flower

The flower that blooms in April
so bright and light and airy
nods its head and winks its eye
by May is spent quite fairly

Other seasonal notes

We're all geared up for First Flush, but there's no sign of imminent rain.  I thought I heard the surf rats who work the Farmer's Market on Saturday talking about incoming storms, but they were actually talking about something to do with waves.  Of course.  I think an extra high tide.  I have misplaced my tide book and I can't be bothered tolook it up otherwise.  And speaking of waves, the season has turned at the beach: It's Beach on Saturday was carved almost in half, with a really steep drop between the high and low part of the beach.  I forgot it happened this early.  

I heard something last night that sounded like rain -- rather, early this morning.  I was really puzzled as I woke up from my twentieth try to sleep: I thought "it's too early.  Wouldn't somebody have said something if a storm was coming in?  Wouldn't we be on alert?  I'm not really ready!!"  But it wasn't rain.  Probably the neighbor was taking a shower.  That's happened before.

It was really, really hot yesterday for probably the first time all summer.  It's been a bit hot before, but we haven't gotten a real, knock-your-socks-off, can't-sleep, burning-up heat wave all summer.  But last night I was hot enough that I was a bit worried and went to drink more water.

I had my first pomegranate today and it was a mistake.  It looked good but it was really bad.  Not weird and sour like the ones in my yard, just truly bad.  Flavorless and not sweet and faintly bitter, like not food at all.  I will wait for the real pomegranate season starting around Halloween, thank you.

There's something sweet and tropical smelling blooming around the corner but I can't find it.  There's a narrow front strip in front of an apartment building with a couple of plum trees, some star jasmine, some lantana, and some agapanthus, and that thing that hedges like box but has big fat leaves with red backs and fuzz on them.  The lantana is the only thing visibly blooming, and it smells like lantana (like nasty musky sharp pennyroyal or mint, but more pleasant than that sounds).  The agapanthus has just finished blooming and there are dead flowers clinging to the seed pods.  The plum is of course tryuing to decide whether or not to be altogether dormant, and since it just got cruely bitchered it's really confused and putting out a few measly untimely leaves.  The star jasmine is out of bloom and the smell isn't like sar jasmine anyway.

It's a mystery.

The Maddox Brothers and Rose

You need to browse this list.  When you have heard "Honky Tonkin" you will know the truth of California.

Edit: forget "Honky Tonkin."  Listen to this and learn.  Now who is Emmy Lou Harris going to sing with in ten years?