when time has run out for one more chapter
a final tune another slash of paint
across life’s canvas when we can’t defer
obligations or wishes with a faint
hope that there will always be tomorrow
what then how will it feel to reach the end
and slipping past human grasp or sorrow
enter a place unknown where we can’t bend
events to our will or count on love to
keep us safe or offer up forgiveness
for the times we stopped believing in who
we knew we could have been will someone bless
our memory then despite all we’ve done wrong
and smiling recollect our once brave song
And what are these crazy fuzzy buds doing out on the trees so early? Did they miss the weather memo? Spring seems to be trying to worm its way in every month of our odd winter. After class I get a text from a percussionist friend in NYC, who I have played and recorded with, telling me that we have lost our friend, the brilliant saxophonist Vinicius Dorin. His music was so magnificent, and he was such a lovely person, barely in his 50s– how can this be? There is too much loss. I always thrill to hear his solos on my CD “Meu Bandolim,” but his playing was usually on a far bigger stage than my living room. He was “um dos maiores improvisadores da música brasileira”. Here’s a link to his playing, with the Hermeto Pascoal group, only a year ago. RIP, my friend.
We escape the storm’s worst and digging out is easier than expected. I got word yesterday that my friend A is hospitalized nearby, so I walk over through the fresh fallen whiteness and brilliant sun, to pay her a visit and see what I can do to help. Time rolls on and we ride along holding sorrow at bay and breathing in beauty, as best we can.
The snow comes, as predicted, but also news comes of the unexpected death of my friend and fellow mandolinist Chris Guida. He, who got me up to Maine so many years ago to run my music week there, who always arrived on Day-1 full of enthusiasm, conversation, piles of music for us to play, freshly baked bread, legs of home-grown lamb for us to eat. I had no idea this was coming and the loss hits hard, so contrary to his nature and energy. But gradually the back-story emerges, the reasons why, and I can only be glad he made it home and died peacefully with his family close by. Driving home from a movie with P, I snap this photo of snow filling up the woods near my house. That beauty continues on is comforting in the face of grief.