reverse threading

the path back is the path forward

Tag Archives: waiting solo piano


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it ain’t heavy. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

“… the road is long
with many a winding turn
that leads us to who knows where, who knows where
but i’m strong
strong enough to carry him
he ain’t heavy, he’s my brother

… so on we go
his welfare is of my concern
no burden is he to bear
we’ll get there

… for i know
we would not encumber me
we ain’t heavy, he’s my brother

… if I’m laden at all
i’m laden with sadness
that everyone’s heart
isn’t filled with the gladness
of love for one another

… it’s a long, long road
from which there is no return
while we’re on the way to there
why not share?

… and the load
doesn’t weigh me down at all
he ain’t heavy, he’s my brother

… he’s my brother
he ain’t heavy, he’s my brother
he ain’t heavy, he’s my brother

(bob russell / bobby scott – he ain’t heavy, he’s my brother)

queen anne’s lace does not bow down under the weight of the snow. it stands – upright – proudly holding what looks like a single-scoop of snowfall. despite the wind, despite the force of gravity – queen anne’s lace bears the burden, singing along with the hollies “and the load doesn’t weigh me down at all…..”

we have a thing or two to learn from nature. long roads, winding turns, shared concern for welfare, love for one another.

we are witness to miracle after miracle out here. they are tiny; they are vast. we stand at the wayside of nature’s rest area – in the fallow that is late autumn and early winter – and we watch as the journey of the woods marches on. working side by side, arm in arm, shoulder to shoulder, the forest and its inhabitants are thrust onto the long cold road ahead, eventually seeking spring. the ecosystem is symbiotic and nothing is encumbered more than the next. even in any not-knowing, critters and plants and trees alike trudge on, sans complaint. they carry with them the exchange of energy and the work of the fallow. they are strong. and it ain’t heavy. they are brothers-sisters together.

and they are waiting for us – the humans – to catch up to their simple wisdom.

*****

WAITING from JOY! A CHRISTMAS ALBUM ©️ 2005 kerri sherwood

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hummingbird reminders. [k.s. friday]

we have been tracking them. like really good private investigators – ok, not so brilliant but quietly watching – we watch the map that shows when they might get here. the map plots everywhere a hummingbird has been sighted and so we are anticipating seeing one anydaynow. we are waiting. with no promise at all.

“waiting for a train to go or a bus to come, or a plane to go or the mail to come, or the rain to go or the…” (dr. seuss – oh, the places you’ll go)

it seems that waiting is a thing. “i can’t wait till….” we find ourselves saying. impatient for time to slip by and for the anticipated moment to arrive.

yet, exquisite it is to sometimes simply linger, to stretch out minutes, to wade in the shallows of right now. waiting need not be passive. instead, it is filled with arrows-forward-arrows-back present-time. it is the only thing we can really feel, the only air we can breathe, the only. it is all that we have at the moment.

i’m sitting against the headboard, my pillows falling into the abyss between the iron bars. i can feel wrought iron against my back as i think about readjusting my stack of fluffy polyester and down alternative. i can hear the taptaptap of david typing next to me. i can hear the gentle easy breathing of dogdog at my feet, dozing and dreaming. if i stop typing i can hear birds outside, the pond gurgling, wind in the trees, every now and then chimes. if i close my eyes i can taste the last sip of coffee and see the maypole i thought about on monday’s mayday.

there are many things i cannot wait for. to see my daughter, hug her, hear her voice in the same room. to watch my son perform at pride festival in chicago. to take a roadtrip. to finish a long chapter that has had challenges.

but i am reminded – every day – that to rush would be to miss it all along the way. i am reminded to stroll or, at most, skip.

our trail has signs that designate a trot as the terminal gait. were i on horseback i would be tempted to canter – for the thrill of it. but i would go back and do it all again – walking and, maybe but not likely, trotting. i would stroke the mane of my horse and talk quietly about all we were seeing. i wouldn’t worry about the end nor would i gallop cause i couldn’t wait to get there.

i’d go slow. and try to relish the now, pushing back impatience so as to wait to feel the restlessness of waiting.

the hummingbirds remind me.

it’s all we have at the moment.

*****

waiting ©️ 2005 kerri sherwood

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waiting past dimly-lit. [d.r. thursday]

in color. it may be a while. winter is upon us. al fresco waits.

we walked past, on a dimly-lit day, as if there was a 40 watt bulb in a really big room. they caught our attention. i could hear the laughter and the clinking of dishes and silverware somewhere in my head, the strung lights turned on, maybe a little music. the picnic tables, the patio space wait.

we have had a string of days. dimly-lit. overcast and drizzly, a few snowflakes here and there, damp. the sun is out there, waiting.

we have had a string of days. dimly-lit. our spirits a little under-the-weather, a little tuckered-out, a little flummoxed. we walk the sidewalks of this small town, having gotten out of our heads a little. we assure each other – opportunity is out there there, waiting.

we pass signs of the holidays approaching…decorated trees, boxes of ornaments, star tchotchkes and packs of menorah candles in shop windows. waiting.

had we waited for dark, i’m pretty sure the little town west of milwaukee would have lit up. but we didn’t wait.

we drove home the backroads, through farmland and tiny towns. and when we got there we lit our own happy lights and sat at the table in our sunroom.

we talked about how lovely it was to just be out and about. a few moments in dimly-lit days with some added technicolor.

we bought our first led bulb. it’s 100 watts. we installed it in the kitchen schoolhouse fixture and made a stockpot of chicken soup by its light. we were surprised. the light was significant. we were going to wait, but the two-pack was on sale. so we didn’t wait.

the silver tree on the windowsill reflected the lights stretched across the open shelf. the star in the sunroom glistened, strung globe lights below it.

a little less dim.

the moon is waning, the stars are absent. but even in night-clouds, we see evidence-bits of them. waiting.

*****

WAITING ©️ 2004 kerri sherwood

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

CHASING BUBBLES 33.25″ x 48″