The Green Wave

Now that several months have passed without an entry, I suppose I must admit that my addiction to paper journals and pens – not to mention privacy! – stands unchanged. But as we teeter at the cusp of a new year, I feel led to return to this space, a page nearly as blank and private as any of my notebooks. All writing is private in the sense that we are alone with the words when they first form and swirl to the surface. It’s only later that the alchemy occurs and someone (my dear cousin, most likely!) encounters the words and they become a line between two people. It’s fun to imagine such a line: a living, flexible, vine-like, sensitive, sentient line.

And of course, it’s just the same with the music we make – at least the kind that starts quietly in solitude up in the music room and only much later wakes up in a studio somewhere or on a CD.

“The Irishy Girl” is walking through the world on her own legs now, tossing out lines and kisses wherever she goes, some taken up gladly and some not even perceived. It’s like that, isn’t it? Mainly, though, I wake up happy that another dream has come true in the world. Here is an idea that one year ago was, to put it gestationally, just a glint in my eye. Now, a year later, that glint is alive and making her wandering way through the world – a happy vagabond, glad to make a friend of a stranger, eager to lend her voice to the world’s amazements. Just like her mother!