The chicken brined and so did I, in a solution of salt, memories and music. That Easter in France with Rob and Paul roasting the lamb — then the one 30 years ago I had to work at the drug store in the morning and my girlfriend Marie dropped me off: kissing in the car, young love in the spring, looking back to wave goodbye.
Made a mimosa with left over Prosecco from New Year’s, lay in bed with the windows open listening to the woodpecker. And the frogs now at night, the song of many combined down to one…the dog with a bone she’s been working, chewing the skin off, licking, wagging…we got the old wall clock fixed by the Japanese guy Aubrey, and now I sit there listening to it tic…and I’ll go out in the garage to admire my car sometimes, just stand there and look.
The lake was choppy, the color of lead, and some ducks floated by like pieces of driftwood.
The crow can’t really sing, it clicks, it does what it can with its throat but it’s always real. It makes me stop and think, I know how you feel.
Photo by Laitche, Wiki Commons: Jungle crow, Tennōji Park, Osaka
Bill Pearse 
What has you waxing even more stream-of-consciousness than usual? Bit by the nostalgia bug?
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It’s the ‘well’ even when it’s not great, it gives!
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We’re all crows, doing what we can with the throats we’ve been given!
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*caw*
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Love that final para.
Fripp and Eno playing quietly in the background, The Equatorial Stars. They must be closer at the equator, I guess.
I wrote tonight – first non-music for ages – you to thank, indirectly but resonantly.
I outed myself. Well, an important part. Croaks from the throat.
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Ribbet. Nice work, Bruce. “Write on.” Frankly that Fripp/Eno combo was a go-to for me when I wrote every day in England one January. Or maybe it was Budd/Eno, doesn’t matter, it worked!
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I really want to write about some ambient favourites, but haven’t found an angle yet. Perhaps it’s that it doesn’t matter which album you play, as long as it’s Eno!
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Or the cult of Eno that threads it all together. The true wheel.
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We have the night frogs too, and I like them. As for crows, I have some in the novel I’m shopping around, and they like to say “raw.” Which fits the story.
Was that Prosecco still bubbly?!
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Prosecco was unopened 😀
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Ah. New Year’s spare. No such thing here. 😐
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I was thinking the same thing. How does one have Prosecco leftover from New Year’s? What kind of party is that?
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That’s a party with too much champagne, and perhaps restraint. Which you could argue goes both ways (good and bad).
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I am fascinated by woodpeckers. When I hear one I run outside to try to spot it. Smashing its tiny head against a tree. What cruel evolutionary joke.
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I love how the male woodpecker beats the metal gutter to say, “look at me!” And, “come and get it!”
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