That really loud sucking sound earlier was me. I was sort of half-consciously but very determinedly p-u-l-l-i-n-g myself out of the morass of sleep that I had submerged myself in after coming home from a 6-hour choir practice today. I think I could have quite easily slept all the way to bedtime and beyond, but somehow my quicksanded brain knew it wasn’t a good idea and rescued me. With the high-pressure front we have sitting over us in Sweden, which has resulted in multiple blue sky and sunshine days of chilly Spring, I don’t really think it was fair to coop us up inside for so long, even to sing spring songs, and the biggest bummer is that I have another 6-hour practice tomorrow.
Every time I see the word “coop” even in English, I pronounce it “coo-ahp” in my head the Swedish way.
Walking outside in the evenings this week has been dangerous. It’s too easy to fall upward into the black, black velvet sky. It’s tricked out with diamonds, glittering shards of glass pulling at your eyes, and you can feel the pull in your throat as well as your head tips back and back. There are frost sparkles on the paving stones and a diamond dust coats the stiff blades of the winter-killed lawn. During the day the pale flush of new grass intimates the greening to come. Tractors huff and puff, raising clouds of dust and chaff, turning over the heating earth in striping patterns. Gangs of jackdaws boldly remain by the edge of the road as you drive by, their feathers ruffling in the rush of air from the passage of the cars. They’re not playing chicken, they’re playing jackdaws.
One of the songs we’re working on perfectly describes the way I feel in the spring. It’s a Swedish classic, a jazz treasure titled Med Ögon Känsliga För Grönt that makes my heart turn over. I want to go and sit by the water and sing it, lying on my back under the endless blue sky.
Och tänk i parken på våren med ögon känsliga för grönt och kastanjeblad som paraplyer och våra händer känsliga för allt som är skönt. Vi vek en duva av papper i vinden seglade den långt och den landade på en staty som fick ändra alla orden i sin sång. Det regnade men bilderna blev bra, det var ett egendomligt ljus den da’n. Vi fyllde våra ögon med ljuset och tankarna på allt det nya…jag älskade dej då—det gör jag nu.
And just think, in the park, in the springtime, with eyes sensitive to green, and chestnut leaves like umbrellas and our hands sensitive to all that is beautiful. We folded a dove of paper, in the breeze it sailed quite far and it landed on a statue that had to change all the words of its song. It rained, but the pictures turned out well; there was a remarkable light that day. We filled our eyes with the light and the thoughts of all the newness. I loved you then, and I do now.
I plan to sing through spring. Shall we harmonize?
Lovely Light and Bounteous Birthday Wishes to circebleu!