Fifty Words for Rain

It is rumored that the Eskimo had fifty words for snow—you know, a word for the big fat flakes, and for the little tiny ones that don’t amount to much, for the driving blizzards and the gentle, sound-muffling windless storms.  I have not independently verified this, but I’d like to believe it’s true.

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Living Seasonally

There is a packet of nasturtium seeds in the junk drawer in my kitchen.  Early in the morning or late at night, when the house is quiet, I can hear them calling out to me.  Their voices are soft, but powerful; they speak of growth, potential, and the glories of a long, golden summer.  They want to be planted—to stretch their roots and reach for the sky.  The only problem is, it hasn’t been time yet.  As I am in the occasional habit of speaking to inanimate things I respond, telling them as much.  They just won’t listen.

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Come On Come Out. . .

It seems like spring has finally arrived in New England.  Although this is my twelfth April in Massachusetts, I still forget that seasons start about a month later here than they do in the interior where I grew up.  Blame the ocean; it keeps the autumn warm and the springtime cold.  In any case, I thought I’d celebrate by sharing a song for this week’s Things I Love that represents to me the warmer side of spring.  This one should really get you feeling that vernal lift.

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She Was in the Field Counting Stars. . .

In our noisy society, music is too often relegated to background noise—to accompaniment.  But once in a while a song stands up and demands more—it consumes us, becoming both external and visceral.  It’s arresting.  We have no choice but to stop, listen, and be eclipsed.  For this week’s installment of Things I Love, I’ve got one of these songs (for me, at least).  Here’s the backstory:

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