Decomposition
A composition; field notes from the fallow
After an intense season of service, I’m in a period of composting. Instead of polished essays, you’ll be getting field notes from the fallow - fragments, questions, demos, what’s catching my attention as I integrate. The album is gestating toward spring release. I’m still here, just in a different key.
From my journal, recently:
Might the falling of leaves be an expression of grief, of shedding all that was
reluctantly
tearfully released
to what it will be composted to be
a decomposition of self
to allow
not
knowing
to arise?
Shaking form loose
allowing next year’s canvas to emerge. But first, fallow.
Can we make that a verb please?
Stopping not as final dying—is there even ever such a thing?—but as part of the rhythm,
the silence
between
the notes
of a symphony played lentissimo.
the music of the spheres unfolding
in its own inexorable Gaian
(and therefore not human)
scale.
My life
an ant before the breath cycle of rock.
Time for rest.
Time for praise.
Time to love.
It takes time to love, doesn’t it? A lifetime, even more. 
Beautiful David.