(where are the pictures? I didn't feel like snagging one from pinterest, and the ones on my mobile phone are pathetically gritty. so guess what. you get to read the words and be content minus visual stimulation. haha.)
Summer. I don't know how to sum up this one. I wrote a blog post a month ago, but kept it stuffed in the drafts folder too long and when I wandered back over to the blogger dashboard and poked over the words again, they sounded lame. People say I write deep thoughts that aren't necessarily inspiring at times, so I shall adjourn from my generally melancholic and introverted self and provide the general public with something that doesn't quite deserve the adjective "heavy." I guess I could describe the sweaty, screaming volleyball games with the church youth, the curled up beneath a Southwestern sky last weekend, probably as close to a major fireworks show as we will ever get, (go Route 66) the disgraceful number of times we took advantage of Sonic's half-off evening milkshake policy and indulged under the stars, that time we drove down to Jemez Springs for some creek swimming, but had disastrous glass cuts within minutes from someone's previous beer binge, (it was . . . colorful? okay, that was morbid) the horseback rides in the Sandia Mountains, and I'm not sure what else to add to the collection of memorabilia.
Okay, I lied. I found a few half-decent shots on my phone, this one being from a hike a few days ago.
And this one from a mini road trip a week ago, to pay my respects to the decaying remnants of a major forest fire this past June. It's amazing how much a little heat can destroy, how healing can require all of a lifetime.
Though I'm thankful for my family and friends and road trips and fireworks and Sonic milkshakes and the like, I feel the most myself, alone under a sky quilted with constellations, listening to the crickets and cicadas and coyotes and other assorted nocturnal wildlife put the night to music, housecleaning my thoughts. Sometimes I bring my guitar or my mandolin outside and make my own contribution, which, besides writing, I enjoy more than anything in the world. I have scores of unfinished songs written up in my docs folder, though I doubt if anyone will ever see them. Which is perfectly fine by me. My mom finally convinced me to put some songs on YouTube, so I dug out my dusty little account and uploaded a few I plunked out in our garage, with my mobile phone as a recording device. My favorite song in the world is JJ Heller's "Love Me." Maybe because I possess a fetish for the melancholic. Maybe because the mournful flavor of the lyrics connects somewhere inside me. Maybe because the culmination of the song is the most degraded of humanity finally making his peace with his Father. I'd like to write a song like that someday. Thanks to the fifty-hour-a-week job I'm about to commence the day after Labor Day, (so long, lazy summer days) my time for such things is about to perish entirely, but I hope that there will always be a few moments in my life for a couple of guitar songs, a half-hour or so of letting my heart bleed into a keyboard, of exploring the quiet backwoods where the punk-rock beat of life changes to wind in the cedars and water on rocks, and remembering my Creator in the days of my youth. Which, mournfully enough, are expiring rapidly. I've never felt so ancient before. I can't believe I was a teenager eleven brief months ago. People say I have an old soul, and I've definitely been feeling that of late.
I love this song too:
"You can spend your whole life building
Something from nothin'
One storm can come and blow it all away
Build it anyway . . .
You can chase a dream
That seems so out of reach
Dream it anyway . . .
This world's gone crazy
It's hard to believe
that tomorrow will be any better than today
Believe it anyway . . .
God is great, but sometimes life ain't good
And when I pray, sometimes it don't turn out how I think it should
But I do it anyway."