John Hiatt is a great songwriter!!  I saw him live in Newport, RI once.  Cool guy.

great word!

another lovely turn 

such a beautiful, sad, meaningful idea....but you're not allowed to die, Terry.  :)

special atmosphere or guardian spirit - had to look this up!  What a cool concept.  I am not sure my blog is due such a sense of wonder...though I do fling the words out into it without much editing, in hopes that some part or piece of a true spirit of words will survive the process.  It really is filled with mostly my gut impulses. If I thought too much about any of it, I wouldn't write any of it.

Your blog does have it. Hovering and angelic and full of deviltry, too.

I think there are many many people who would think this is impossible in digital spaces, to be made to "feel" like this.  Yet we live its veracity and veritability. And yes, the words to describe it are impossible, though you and Simon seem to create words from the mist/fog/smoke.

Love the juxta of veracity/veritability. And words are smoke from the fire and wake from the ship and fog from the Piper at dawn's gate.

trying to label and name the unnameable

when "flow" is reached in teaching, it is gorgeousness.

I don't even know what to say here except that your writing is beautiful and you manage to lead me down some ever-twisting/changing/flowing thought process that makes no sense and yet makes perfect sense as long as I don't try to pin it down.  As long as it stays in my peripheral vision, it is crystal clear.

LOL, yeah, the piper with his contract to lure away the kids to their doom.

I did, just now, and was blown away by it.  I read it a LONG time ago and I don't think I ever truly appreciated it until now.

The images in that chapter - wow. That chubby little baby otter being saved and protected by Pan, while the two who search for him are pulled along by the music they aren't even 100% sure they can hear.  The purposeful forgetting.  The joy in the baby knowing them already, yet still looking for the now-missing Pan. So many of my kids are missing joy.  Do they even know what it is?  Will they ever? When you come to school just for food, is that joy?  How can we teach joy???

The baby otter's name is Portly. So....sweet. Joy is beyond comfort.

love the music references!

Music is an uber language of feeling.

I do feel a sense of responsibility to you connected folks.  Not in an obligation kind of way, but in a shared experience kind of way.

A vibrating string. There are an impossibly large number of connections for us to parallel process, but we need to send out a pulse every once in awhile, a ping to the freaking world that says, step off, I got sumfin to say.

ha!  I try to Not Use More Words Than I Need To.  Choose Words That Matter.  But Don't Think Too Much.

awesome music!

Those piano riffs that bookend this hit song are the def of inspired.

'You hear better than I,' said the Mole sadly. 'I cannot catch the words.' 'Let me try and give you them,' said the Rat softly, his eyes still closed. 'Now it is turning into words again-faint but clear-Lest the awe should dwell-And turn your frolic to fret-You shall look on my power at the helping hour-But then you shall forget! Now the reeds take it up-forget, forget, they sigh, and it dies away in a rustle and a whisper. Then the voice returns- 'Lest limbs be reddened and rent-I spring the trap that is set-As I loose the snare you may glimpse me there-For surely you shall forget! Row nearer, Mole, nearer to the reeds! It is hard to catch, and grows each minute fainter. 'Helper and healer, I cheer-Small waifs in the woodland wet-Strays I find in it, wounds I bind in it-Bidding them all forget! Nearer, Mole, nearer! No, it is no good; the song has died away into reed-talk.' 'But what do the words mean?' asked the wondering Mole. 'That I do not know,' said the Rat simply. 'I passed them on to you as they reached me. Ah! now they return again, and this time full and clear! This time, at last, it is the real, the unmistakable thing, simple-passionate-perfect--'

I love the fumblng for the concrete here: faint but clear, the dwelling awe, frolic to fret, the helping hour, reed, trap set, helper and healer, reed-talk, pass them on, sighing and dying away sound. Nearer,nearer. The 'approaching-ness' of words and, inevitably, their 'failing-ness'.

Old Crow Medicine Show: We're all in this thing together Walkin' the line between faith and fear This life don't last forever When you cry I taste the salt in your tears Well my friend, let's put this thing together And walk the path that worn out feet have trod If you wanted we can go home forever Give up your jaded ways, spell your name to God. All we are is a picture in a mirror Fancy shoes to grace our feet All that there is is a slow road to freedom Heaven above and the devil beneath All we are is a picture in a mirror Fancy shoes to grace our feet All that there is is a slow road to freedom Heaven above and the devil beneath

One of my favs