Love Rain Down a lovely very moving soon-to-be-award-winning animation for big and little people by my good friend, the amazing activist Derrick Ashong, his associate, , and the band Soulfegè. Then, later, see below for a FREE download of Soulfegè's new album "Afropolitan.
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Bread: An Ode
Bread belongs to nobody,
but spans seas,
all shapes all sizes,
flat bread, round bread,
long bread, short bread, braided & sliced,
leavened, unleavened,
nan, baguette, pita, tortilla.
as common as flour and water.
Bread begins my day —
half a loaf with butter and blackberry jam.
at midday, tomato sandwiches and
at four with tea and honey.
Bread alone a feast.
When it's hard and dry it's
resurrected as croutons,
even the crumbs are cared for,
everything wanted without it —
jewel of table.
Bread, wine & cheese,
most accommodating of foods and yet
nothing as miraculous as crust of bread.
If you want a taste of
paradise on earth,
walk into a bakery.
O bread, O infinite bread
that takes away hunger
and gives us the
wheat of our humanity.
(from Public Spaces, Private Places
by Jonah Raskin
Running Wolf Press, 2007
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(P2) Philosophical
Final Migration
by Catherine Sevenau
My sister Liz knew everything about everything—and what she didn’t know—she made up. Her library was lined with books from architecture, antique lamps and art nouveau to tomes on history, the human body and Henry VIII. She also had every field-guide on flora, fauna and all things feathered.
Liz was an avid bird-watcher and the aristocratic and ancient crane was her favorite. A “craniac”, she could tell you everything about their habits and habitats, their migration patterns and their courting rituals. She even knew their mating calls. The birds inspired her, weaving their nests into her daily living. A life-size bronze statue stood sentry at her front door. A delicately feathered watercolor flew on her plaster walls. Cranes perched on her shelves, danced on her Japanese robe and winged across her glass lampshade.
Every fall, thousands of greater sandhills streak across the Pacific Flyway, migrating in families to feed and roost in the safety of the Central Valley wetlands near the Sacramento River. They are one of the world’s largest birds, the males standing at a stately five-feet with a seven-foot wingspan. They are long-legged, long-necked and bustle-bodied, sporting ash gray plumage, a black chiseled bill, sleek white cheeks and a bald red crown. Their trumpet can be heard for miles. Between feeding and roosting, they dance this peculiar choreographed avian ballet: first one crane starts out slowly, then a second, the tempo picks up, and soon the whole flock is hopping and bowing—wing flourishing and stick tossing in wild rap-like abandon. My sister loved their elaborate floorshow, cackling her delight.
In February, Liz was diagnosed with stage IV lung cancer. In September, she had experimental surgery at the UC Davis Cancer Clinic in Sacramento. Two weeks after she had come to stay with me. Pneumonia set in and I took her back to the hospital. Three days later, she died.
Just after she took her final breath in that cool early morning, her husband Tony stepped outside to call the family. Dialing his cell phone, there was an overhead cacophony of long drawn-out bugling and clanging so loud he was unable to converse. Looking up, his irritation turned to slack-jawed wonder. A feathered cortege of two-hundred greater sandhills passed directly over his wife’s top floor hospital room in single and V-line formation—first one string, then another behind the first, then another behind them, then another, and another, necks extended, legs and tails outstretched, the slow rhythmic beating of their wings vibrating the crisp October sky, incessantly declaring GAROOO-A-A, GAROOO-A-A.
As is their nature, the whole flock trumpets most raucously when concerned or alarmed. As was her nature, Liz was probably disturbing their flight pattern on her way out. Or maybe she was joining them on their migratory trek. Or perchance, the winged ones knew she was ready and arrived to escort their friend in style—blessing my sixty-four year old sister with an exquisite tribute and a final accompaniment.
Catherine Sevenau
October 2004
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Here's the free download of the album Afropolitan by Soulfege. Derrick Ashong is my niece Lucia Brawley's betrothed and the father of the glorious Bianca. His band Soulfege does terrific fusion (afro, hiphop, funk, soul) meaningful music. Derrick, my grandson Justin Coletti (and even I on my harmonica) had a wild time yesterday at a family party.
Soulfege is giving away their music. They are attempting to do what never has been done, to give away a million downloads, circumvent the music industry, and become justifiably famous.
Please help them out and enjoy mightily in the process.
Press the green icon below
 Wanna Be Down? Download. AFropolitan, the album. Use your voice to change the world of music and use music to change the world. Join the Million Download Campaign and make history. www.derrickashong.com |
(P3) Political
Comment or Read Comments Here on any of the above or below. Log in under "Name/URL," (it's easy). Just the name (don't worry about the URL). Actual name is best, but use what you like. Or email me at edcoletti@sbcglobal.net, and I can post it.
