Largo

In Handel’s day, castrati
Were the rock stars.
Don’t pity them.

Composers wrote love duets
For two sopranos.
In recent decades, women in drag

Performed. Today, a few
Men control their falsetto
And produce astonishing

Beauty, such as
Handel’s “Ombra mai fu.”
Flipping through my old

Flute book, I found this piece.
It had meant nothing to me
When I had played it in high school.

Now I play it, and the background
Chamber music plays in my head.
Such sounds that fill our house!

Summer Heat

Summer has seemed more gentle than most
Thus far. Outside it’s in the 90s,
But even without air conditioning,
Our ambient temperature stays in the 70s,
And with ceiling fans, it’s not bad.

I was thinking about the last few years,
Though, how I would go outside or to the RV
For two or three meals a day,
And the sweat would run down my nose
And drop onto the counter or the floor.

It’s hard to cool down after working in
Three digit heat. Cold showers helped.
Historically, women cooked over fires
In summer, so I could hardly complain.
That said, I am extra thankful now,

For sweat-free food.

Busted

The leaders ask Jesus about his authority.
After he confounds them with a question
About John’s authority (from heaven? Or men?),
He tells a pointed story about a man who plants
A vineyard and lets it out to tenants
Who abuse and kill the servant rent-collectors.
Foolishly, the man then sends his son,
And the tenants conspire: “If we kill the son,
We’ll be the heirs.” Kill they do.

The story is shocking.
What tenant thinks, “If I just kill the son,
I’ll be the heir?” What man assumes
The authority of his son will be heeded,
When his servants have all been injured or killed?

Most telling, though: one could almost excuse
The chief priests for killing Jesus: “They didn’t know.”
But this story makes it clear both who Jesus was—
The Son—and that they cared not,
And killed him anyway.

The foolishness of God is wiser than men;
And the weakness of God is stronger than men.
Thanks be to God.

Shakespeare Easy Reader

For one son, reading has not come easily.
Art is more his thing.

So I was startled today to hear him say,
“I hate you, and all Montagues.”
Romeo and Juliet in graphic novel:
The provocation.

“I’m reading the fight scenes.
Let me read one to you….
I bite my thumb at you.”
Who chooses that for their first free time reading?

Good choice, son.
Thank you for sharing this moment with me.

Piano Duets with Baby

Halfway through “Moonlight Sonata,”
I stop using the foot pedals,
Lest I trample chubby fingers, exploring.

Then those hands played bass,
While I kept going, doggedly,
Through Beethoven’s lyricism.

It wasn’t the normal sound, this new
Constant rumble underneath
Familiar patterns. But it was

Companionable. If God is at work,
I wonder if we sometimes come and
Play bass, changing the plan.

If so, he must laugh at the silliness of
Our music, together. And feel
Happy we’re playing with him.

Delight

Last year, Joe built a guitar of Duplos.
Since then, he’s wanted a real one, but small.
One arrived last week, with only
One string. Daily he lamented
How few sounds he could make.
New strings today, and plenty of sound.

But the real story is not the budding musician.
The real story comes just before.
The delight on his face,
When he realized his daddy bought strings,
His requests were heard and answered.

I’ve thought about tears stored in a bottle.
They have substance. It would be possible.
But there is no way to store such delight.

A photo might capture the facial expression,
But not the physical change of posture,
The intake of breath, the freshness
Emanating from the joy.

Some things one can only witness.
And rejoice.

Hummingbird

Fifty-nine months I’ve lived here,
And never seen a hummingbird
Until today.

It looked in the kitchen window,
Looked in the dining room,
Flew by the living room,

And was gone.
Come again, precious guest.
Bless my home, my life

With your presence.
I say the same to you.
Come again, precious guest.