taliesin's log (voices of women)

the orchard
wild, wondrous, weird ... and wicked

Voices of Women

The Orchard

(direct from the orchard)

Cymbals and seasons

2003

First roots (05/03)

2004

Sowing seeds (08/04)

Turning trees (09/04)

Underground? (10/04)

2005

Bursting out from below (03/05)

Cruel deception? (04/05)

Flower power (05/05)

Knuckle down (06/05)

Of Apple trees and synching feelings (07/05)

Eclipsed and ablaze (08/05)

Of light beyond clouds (09/05)

Harvest and rot (10/05)

Defrosting the fountains (11/05)

Difficult digging (12/05)

2006

The Janus month (01/06)

Manuals and mud (02/06)

The people, the pitfalls... (03/06)

...the peaks, and the river (04/06)

Unclouded confessionals (05/06)

Riding the roller-coaster (06/06)

Precipitate plunge (07/06)

Strong Stuff?

The Orchard is space to "think different", if at all. Life brings occasions to cease the endless flow of thought; it can be hard, but wisdom needs quietened minds to grow.
For months, during a dream of love, there were locks on the gate. Now it's open in all weathers. Space, time and mind occupy dimensions that are rarely mentioned in the music log unless musicians do themselves.
You'll find more music here, poetry, prose and pictures for people's special moments, some of my "gurus", sometimes a tribute to a friend no longer with us.
Welcome also to a workshop; other entries concern "tools of the trade" for music-lovers, and there are notes on widely used Mac software and the occasional rant at Apple and the music industry.
This is where ideas can gestate and experiments happen.
Predict Nothing.

vendredi 10 septembre 2004

Errant thought
After such a long journey, it's good to find how well the place has kept.
All on its own, unless friendly phantoms have swept up the leaves and are burning them.
Even the house is fine.
The ice crystals, the sheets over all the furniture straight out of 'Doctor Zhivago'.

What's it been?
Half a century? Maybe more, maybe less.
It scarcely matters. One mystery is bigger tonight than others:
what is, when is, how comes the "revolution"? Perhaps it's past. Happy to be unsure for now, I'll lie down a little, watch smoke spiral off the bonfire, up into your sky.
This much we know: the sky is your domain, the wild earth my own.
Yet to fly, you must land, a streak diving down among sheep.
While I, to run, must take to the air, since that's what is always in the balance.

8:02:44 PM your views? []