Newsletter #2 June 2023
I pulled my blue camp chair up the garden steps this morning, to a shady spot on the path facing east. The view is tunnel-like, narrow, and tree-lined.
Lately, I’ve felt myself twirling, untethered, grasping at any sparkly thread that enters my sphere. “Ooh, this looks shiny and tempting. Might be a fun ride.” Yet, I drop the new endeavor as soon as the next suggestion of splendor drifts by.
This morning I gaze down the path and feel comforted. Giant orange marigold blossoms sway on their thick stems. A blossoming succulent boasts thick water-swelled leaves. Offshoots explode into tiny orange bells, with hints of yellow peeking out like little clappers. I wouldn’t be surprised if they rang. I listen for the sound, imagining a nearly imperceptible jangle.
I wonder if the succulent’s petals form a Fibonacci pattern, three petals surrounded by five, then eight, then thirteen, etc. The math of Mother Nature. I’m no numbers wizard, but I am soothed by patterns. This sequence was introduced to me during my three-summer choral conducting graduate program at Cal State L.A., by program director, Don Brinegar.
Don challenged us to look for the sequence and its related Golden Ratio, 1.618, not only in nature, but also in the structure of much great art, musical compositions, literature, film, visual art, and architecture. The intrigue of the pattern has stayed with me. I plot my writing time in segments of eight, thirteen, and twenty-one minutes. It’s fun, yes, but also proves productive. Following a powerful summer rehearsal at CSULA, with glorious choral singing floating in our minds’ ears, Don sent us out to the patio for thirteen-minute frisbee breaks.
It appears I am taking you along on a nostalgic turn down memory lane. I recently learned that this summer will be Don Brinegar’s last with the program and I am reminded of my graduate school path, making my way through a rich tunnel of choral conducting, of singing, of writing a thesis and presenting a related performance with my two choral ensembles at Palomar College. My life was enriched, not just musically but overall, especially by the deep connections and warm friendships made with choral colleagues.
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I return home now, to the garden path and the apple tree ahead. Most of the fruit is still green, but some red appears on those apples receiving sunshine. Speaking of sun, we had a few sunny days this week in San Diego. The unusual amount of rain during winter blanketed the hillsides in green and left vegetable gardens, trees, plants, and flowers beaming with joy. However, the sun has been a stranger this spring, vacationing somewhere behind the clouds, only making an appearance briefly, just before sunset.
Locals gather nightly at the end of Leucadia Blvd., to watch the sunset overlooking Beacon’s Beach. Everyone faces west, attentive, as there is always the possibility of seeing the mysterious Green Flash at the precise moment when the sun dips into the Pacific. You can tell a lot about a person by how they respond to the green flash at sunset.
“I think I saw it! Did you see it?” one voice calls out.
Someone grumbles, “No, I’ve never seen it. It’s not a real phenomenon.”
Others vigorously shake their heads, “Oh, yes, it is! I’ve seen the quick bright glow often. My friend’s a physicist and explained the scientific events that create the perfect condition for the green flash on the horizon at sunset.”
“B.S.,” says the grumpy guy at the cliff’s edge. He turns and galumphs off.
I don’t join in the conversation. But I smile. Bill and I have seen the green flash quite a few times.
I hold that image now as I gaze down to the end of the Tunnel of Trees in our upper garden. Pale green, dark green, yellowish green, bluish green, unmoving green cacti with sharp needles beside and beneath the white blossoms on the blackberry bush that climbs the red trellis Bill stuck in the ground for it.
And now, the finale. A sweet breeze turns the leaves in the tunnel into a gently rustling avenue of chimes. It seems to me a tunnel of trees, with flashes of green is just what I’ve needed.
Any tunnels in your life? Green flashes? Let me know by hitting reply or leave me a note via the “Contact Us” page on the Musings website.
