Views and Interviews - Online Journal

Sadness

Last night, while surfing, I came a cross a site belonging to a shakuhachi maker.  And of course there were links to other shakuhachi sites, and on and on.  I felt a real pang looking at the beautiful flutes - I could feel them in my hands, could remember the lovely way I could make one note slide into the next, the hoarse tone that comes from blowing with strength, and the pure sound when it all is just right. 

The arthritis in my hands makes it impossible to play any more.  I sold my flute three years ago.  Now longing to play washes over me and I can hardly breathe. 

Winter?

On Christmas eve, just before dusk, I stood out on our deck and watched as several hundred geese flew over.  They were heading south-west.  They flew in groups of about sixty or seventy, or less, and were so close that I could hear the wind passing through their feathers. 

But still it's warm - the rhododendrons hardly curl up their leaves at all, and though it rains, there is no ice.  The ground is hard, but not truly frozen.