The Gardener
Santa Clara, CA 95051
theroot_
.
THE SOURCE
A little work sets the body to singing. Today is comfortable, bucking the trend, with a temperature significantly below average, a mild breeze and no smoke or sirens. I used a hand saw to remove some coat hangers, remainders after trimming with the pole lopper. The hackberry limb over the fence happens to be in in just the wrong place.
Now sitting in my chair and viewing the limb it seems the cuts will heal over. I use my Kindle to search for La Bamba. The video brings music from Serbia, Mali, Congo, Mexico, Cuba, Los Angeles, Australia, Argentina, Placita, Colombia. They're all playing guitars, harps, stringed instruments and a guy on drums outside a jungle clearing, a full set with snare, top hat, floor tom, crash cymbal, and shots of kids somewhere swaying and snapping to the beat. Mr. Finch and the doves seem to like it.
One mind one beat. How about Bamba Bomba? Bomba rice is good for making Spanish paella because it absorbs so much water. It leads to a related search: Tsar Bomba. The Tsar's bomb. What kind of bedtime story will that make for our kids?
An article on BBC says there is more water on the moon than we thought, it's below the surface. Future inhabitants will be able to mine it for a space colony. La Bamba is still going on in the back of my mind, out of place like the keyboard improvisations that I can't help but sing along with even though who knows where they come from, and they never repeat, and do I care where they all go?
Time for a cup of tea, a toll house cookie. Which will not save the world from whatever it's doing. A five-minute nap, so delicious and the growing grass and dreams mining an improvisation that owes no one anything, stream of consciousness anyone can enter. Mr. Finch blinks an eagle eye.
There might be a phrase to end this that would flip you out. But here we are. On the same page.
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The Gardener
Santa Clara, CA 95051
theroot_