Autumn Dreams

It was bound to happen, I suppose.


You know how it is. If you’re easily led ... as I seem to be, judging from the trails I’ve been taken down by various groups, and individuals ... then, chances are, you’re likely to find yourself in the midst of, well, another crowd.


And so it was that I recently ended up in a field beside a busy highway ... staring at what must have been four or five acres, containing close to a million ... had to be at least that many ... SUNFLOWERS, all in full blossom ... and all staring at me.


Well, I was staring right back.


You see, I was there with a group which meets in various locations with the intent of using watercolors to paint a representation of what they see ... and it’s really interesting to see how many interpretations emerge from such an encounter.


I was overwhelmed. How could I possibly paint the portraits of so many shining faces? 


I couldn’t. I had all the physical equipment, a folding stool, a small easel, watercolors, water ... oh, lucky me, I remembered to bring some water ... watercolor paper, brushes, paper towels (for the inevitable spills) ... I had it all.


Except. I really didn’t know where to begin. But I couldn’t let that stop me, right? So I picked a nearby trio and did a “family portrait” of them. It only took me a couple of hours ... and I really didn’t have a finished painting, but the other painters were picking up, folding up, tidying up ... and getting ready to leave.


I wasn’t about to stay where I was so vastly outnumbered ... even if it WAS just a field of sunflowers ... so I gathered up my stuff, too.


On the way back to the car ... yes, Little Red was still waiting for me, as was Phyllis, who had kept me company on the drive over ... helped me set up, then busied herself with some reading material ... and THEN helped me “break camp” ... well, on the way back to the car, I saw a scene I wish I had spotted on the way in:


Imagine, if you will, all these thousands, maybe millions, of sunflowers all facing in the same direction ... toward the sun, naturally ... and there was ONE, standing in front of them ... facing THEM ... like a choir director ... or maybe like an awkward teen-ager, saying to himself: “Why is everybody staring at ME?”


-S&G-


Oh, there was one other point of interest in this outing: Someone with at least a slight sense of humor had outfitted one of the sunflowers with a pair of sun glasses ... and, if I pushed the right buttons on my camera, you’ll see that “portrait” above. If not, well, just take my word for it this time.


-S&G-


This from RUTH, Florida/Ohio: The difference between the North and the South - Don’t be worried about understanding what people are saying. They can’t understand you either. The first Southern statement to creep into a Northerner’s vocabulary is the adjective “big’ol’ truck” or “big’ol’ boy.” Most Northerners begin their Southern-influenced dialect this way. All of them are in denial about it.


-S&G-


This from WALT, Ohio: Why do people keep running over a string a dozen times with their vacuum cleaner, then reach down, pick it up, examine it, then put it down to give the vacuum one more chance?


-S&G-


This from HELEN, Florida: A grandmother was telling her little granddaughter what her own childhood was like: “We used to skate outside on a pond. I had a swing made from a tire ... it hung from a tree in our front yard. We rode our pony. We picked wild raspberries in the woods.”


The little girl was wide-eyed, taking this all in. At last she said, “I wish I knew you sooner, Grandma!”


-S&G-


TODAY'S POEM: I write a lot about rain ... because I grew up in a time and place where it was vital ... not just for lawns and flowers ... but food, too. Oh, what sweet music ... the sound of a gentle rain on the roof ... or rustling the leaves of the tree outside my bedroom window ... the sound of plump drops plopping against the window.




I hope I've caught some of the feeling ... the mood ... with today's selection ... originally published in St. Anthony Messenger:




AUTUMN DREAMS


Softly, the rain
descends, puddling
in the darkly
glistening street,
pausing to quench
the thirsting roof
before dripping,
a muffled sighing,
to the ground.
Wind chimes stir,
and the cows
are suddenly home,
winding along
that narrow path
where the sun
lately streamed.
I stir, savoring
quilted warmth,
softness of pillow,
go drifting off
again like a puff
of milkweed.


-S&G-




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-S&G-


If you’d like to see what’s up with my other, DAILY blog (no, this is not my “Home Page”),  here’s a link to it:


http://rbrimm.blogspot.com/


Thanks for paying a visit.




-S&G-


UNTIL NEXT TIME ... take care ... see ya!


-S&G-


©  2010