Songwriter Sunday Morning


Sunday morning coming down.

Songwriter church.

In the golden Springtime light through a small stained glass window above a small electric piano/organ.

A mug of hot coffee with heavy cream and dark chocolate.

Two trusty guitars.

The black Martin is the one I sold and then regretted selling two years later.

My friend who bought it gave it back without being repaid.

He got his two years of fun out of it. So kind of him.

It used to have stickers so as of this week it does again.

Ready for summer, that's what that guitar is.

Songs about the spacious beauty of life lived close to the ground, with many things stripped away.

Beauty is easier to see when you have fewer choices, when beauty isn't crowded out by too many things, too much opulence, too much abundance.

Later today, the small glass dish of black raspberries like tiny jewels.

The small stack of good crackers with a small wedge of a rich delicious cheese.

The one bottle of a very nice dry rosé to share with a friend.

Speaking of which, there's one called "MADO au provence", with a drawing of a woman on a bicycle on the label.

The bottle is clear glass and it has a clear glass stopper instead of a cork.

The nice man at the wine store suggested that the bottle could be later used to make one's own infused olive oil.

I'm going to do it!

Either fresh rosemary sprigs and garlic cloves, or oregano and garlic and maybe whole peppercorns.

"when Holy water was rare at best, barely wet my fingertips 

now I have to hold my breath, it's like I'm swimming in a sea of it" ~Peter Mayer

I can revel in abundance on a sunny Sunday morning in April with the Spring and the Summer stretching out before me.

"so let the sun flow through your fingertips

warm on your hands in the afternoon

the ice is gone and the summer's come

I know you never dreamed the sun would come again" ~me from my song Seven Times As Lucky on the Beautiful Lonely album

Songwriter Sunday morning.

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