It’s Spring

Just another lyric without a tune.

Chorus:
There’s only one eight o’clock in the morning
Only one eight a.m. a day
There’s only one Saturday a week
So let the sun wash your blues away

Winter is buried
Now all dead and gone
Goodbye to the cold
That cuts to the bone

Hear rain on the roof
Pitter-pattering
Soon a daisy or two
Sprouts in the green

Chorus:
There’s only one eight o’clock in the morning
Only one eight a.m. a day
There’s only one Saturday a week
So let the sun wash your blues away

Listen to the robins
On a singing streak
Watch butterflies dance
Flowers cheek to cheek

Sparrows come making
Their nests in the trees
With branches spread wide
And lush canopies

Chorus:
There’s only one eight o’clock in the morning
Only one eight a.m. a day
There’s only one Saturday a week
So let the sun wash your blues away

Bridge:
It’s spring
I’m here to tell you
It is spring
So let the light come in

A grey squirrel dashes
Up a back yard oak
A snake slithers by
Frog crosses the porch

Blossoms a-budding
Nature’s calling card
Breathe in the spring air
Crossing the yard

Chorus:
There’s only one eight o’clock in the morning
Only one eight a.m. a day
There’s only one Saturday a week
So let the sun wash your blues away

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Uncle Bardie’s Spotlight Creator: The Appalachia Santa Claus Special

Once a week on Friday, Uncle Bardie celebrates the creativity in others by shining a Spotlight on a movie, a song or a creator. This week’s Spotlight is the Appalachia Santa Claus Special and the folks who support it:

In these rough and tumble times, it’s always great to hear a bit of good news about our fellow Americans. So today’s Spotlight is given to you in the Christmas spirit. To shine a little light on something that reflects the holiday spirit. Here’s hoping your Hanukkah and your Christmas are wonderful. And that your New Year is the best. Blessings, my friends.

Late night meditation

It’s eleven p.m. The street is quiet.
Neighbors’ lights go out one by one
and soon the midnight hour
when only street lights shine.
In the kitchen, dishes in the sink,
an uncorked Cabernet
and a slice of wedding cake in the fridge.
Cat sprawls out on the couch.
On a chair, an open book,
a story half-unfinished,
with maps to the moon
and colored photographs.
Down the hall, the bed waits,
pillows propped two high
and clean sheets.

Mr. Reynolds and the lighthouse

Nora loved the lighthouse some few miles away from the town. She loved to go down and share a picnic with the lighthouse keeper, Reynolds Reynolds. He had tended the lighthouse since before Nora was born. Her landlady knew him. Said he had come back from the war and taken over the lighthouse.

Now he was in want for an apprentice. No one was interested in the job. It was a lonely seven-day-a week job and there were no days off. Finally he asked Nora.

“What?” she asked. “A woman?”

“Why not?” Mr. Reynolds said. I”t’s been done before. Sandy Sarah was the lighthouse keeper off the cape back before you and I were even thought of. She is a legend. Once when the light went out, she stood out on the rocks and waved a lantern all night during a storm. She died on those rocks. But she saved the lives of a hundred men. She did what lighthousemen have always done. She served the ships.”

Nora gave the thing a think and decided she was up to the offer. The next time she came out to the lighthouse she told Mr. Reynolds. In her late twenties, she had not found the love of her life. So she concluded the solitary life was for her. And the lighthouse would be the first home she had ever had. She had grown up in an orphanage, then taken a room in the local boarding house and earned her living as a typist.

The next time she came out to the lighthouse Mr. Reynolds told her that the Lighthouse League had approved her appointment as an apprentice lightsman. The next day she moved into the extra room at the cottage. The day after that Mr. Reynolds began her schooling of the finer points of lightsmanship. Teaching her how to clean the lens and how often. How to order supplies for the lighthouse. Those kind of things.

In the morning he fixed their late breakfast. In the evenings she made their dinners. In the afternoon after the chores were done, they walked out on the beach.

As time went on, Nora began her love affair with the sea. More and more she thought of it as home. There was a comfort in that. Mr. Reynolds whom she took to calling Reynolds was the father she had never had. And she was the daughter he never had.

Occasionally a visitor would come out to admire the lighthouse or to deliver supplies. They saw these two walking along the shore, two companions who had somehow found each other because of the light.

Twenty years went by and the old man came to the time of his death. His last words to Norah, “I have had only two loves in my life. The light and the light that is you. Thank you for all the happiness you have given me.”

Tears formed in Nora’s eyes. “And I have had only two loves in my life. The light and the light that is you.”

There was peace on the old man’s face as he went off to be a lightsman in another world.

Mr. Reynolds body was cremated. Nora threw his ashes into the sea. Now she was alone. But there were times when visitors would see Nora walking the beach. At her side was an old man.

micropoem for the day: night skies

I woke up this morning thinking about night skies. How they spread out before us and give us a sense of wonder. Now that brings a large hmmm to my mind. I am not one of those people who go out and spend a lot of time out in the open looking, and perhaps studying, the night sky. But maybe I will start. Like the old fellow said, “It’s never too late.” And his wife said, “Better late than never.”

blue moons, harvest moons,
full moons and moon pies,
a moon for every season