...:: * ::... 

As I write this, I can hear the sound of wind and rain against
darkening windows. The world outside is blanketed in glistening
silver, splashed with green. In the leaden sky, a bright patch
draws my eye as light rays struggle to break through before
nightfall. A strange wild magic rides unseen air currents, felt
in one's pulse and along nerve endings... 
   Inside, the tantalizing aroma of baked ziti begins to fill the
room. A rare birthday treat. I smile, listening to F putter in the
kitchen. In the background, Loreena McKennit's soft Celtic lilt...
a beautiful birthday gift and perfect counterpoint to evening
rainsong. 
   I glance at the fireplace, logs stacked and ready, awaiting a
match...perhaps tonight? I love lying on the floor, stretched flat,
watching firelight dance on darkened walls; the crisp snap and
muffled crackle, the sweet aroma of a wood fire... 
   A horror film waits in the wings...a classic, I think. Perhaps Alien,
the director's cut. Or the original Nosferatu. I glance again at F,
murmuring unconsciously to himself while he works. I smile again
and think: yes, I'll let him choose this time.
   Rainfall, pasta, wine, firelight and horror movies...perhaps it's
a sign of age, of mellowing. But at this moment in my life, I could
not ask for a sweeter way to spend a birthday evening.

* * *

sing it with me

...:: I want to join the orange cohort! ::... 

I love receiving email from my sister Jerri, who is in her second
year at CIIS, working towards a degree in expressive arts therapy.
She writes:

You would LOVE my psychopathology professor. He is
completely irreverent. Tonight, we read scenarios and
then made diagnoses. He requested we read them in
funny accents, then asked for Katherine Hepburn, so I
[complied], and was roundly applauded. Only one other
soul was brave enough to go for it. John read one as
Bob Dylan (John is Irish, so Bob had a bit of a lilt...it was
the best Irish Bob Dylan I've ever heard). I did a second
turn as Blanche Dubois. Mark (the prof) did Peter Lorre.
A good time was had by all.
   He (Mark) does all this with a straight face. Threw the
DSM (Diagnostic & Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders,
a large, rather formidable book) on the floor and jumped
on it to show us not to be afraid of it. He reminds me of
my high school biology teacher Mr. Pirie, who would
lecture standing on the lab sink. As I made my way to
the front of the room, dissection plate in hand, he'd hold
my worm aloft and announced, "Jerri...dinner."
   I'm a sucker for a funny teacher. Make me laugh
and I will learn.

...:: * ::... 

There are times when I cannot get enough of Kate Bush...
her music, her lyrics, images felt between line & chord...
sometimes the hunger to hear a certain song is almost
tangible, like a living, breathing thing caught within the
breast... 

                          * * *

i found a book on how to be invisible
take a pinch of keyhole
and fold yourself up
you cut along the dotted line
you think inside out
and you're invisible

          eye of braille
          hem of anorak
          stem of wallflower
          hair of doormat

i found a book on how to be invisible
on the edge of the labyrinth
under a veil you must never lift
pages you must never turn
in the labyrinth

you stand in front of a million doors
and each one holds a million more
corridors that lead to the world
of the invisible
corridors that twist and turn
corridors that blister and burn

          eye of braille
          hem of anorak
          stem of wallflower
          hair of doormat

          is that the wind from the desert song?
          is that an autumn leaf falling?
          or is that you, walking home?
          is that the wind from the desert song?
          is that an autumn leaf falling?
          or is that you, walking home?
          is that a storm in the swimming pool?

you take a pinch of keyhole
and fold yourself up
you cut along the dotted lines
and think inside out
you jump 'round three times
you jump into the mirror
and you're invisible

how to be invisible, Kate Bush
© 2005 Kate Bush, Noble & Brite