A small turnout at my writing group last night -- only five of us -- and there was the usual abundance of wit and high spirits interlaced with acute yet even-handed criticism. This is yet one of many blessings I am fortunate to lay claim to.
Rosanne Olson (here and here), our house photographer extraordinaire, has of late been writing no poetry, only songs. When it came to her turn to present, she apologized for her lack of a poem, then turned to me and said, "But I wrote three songs for you, T."
Well! I was astonished, and of course we all rallied for a performance, and she agreed to let me film her.
"Can I sing a sad one?" She asked.
I'm a sucker for music that sends most people to a jumping-off point at the edge of a cliff, and, in fact, am more often inspired by a dirge than a jig.
And as yesterday was a day of conflicting emotions -- delight & sorrow, gratitude & keen disappointment -- I was of course moved to tears by this gift of song performed in the last light of a chilly July night.
(Before she began to sing, she said,
"Wait! I forgot the words!" [Laughter.]
And then, "That's okay. I'll just make them up.")
Without further ado: