Meditation 013 | F-Sharp Major | Vol. II, Issue 1
For the Taback family, in loving memory of Louise.
Thank you for being here for the thirteenth installment of this newsletter, and the very first issue of Volume II. (See: Volume I)
🎵 This month’s piece is in F-sharp major.1 As we step into the shifting autumn light, I’m admiring the exiting summer season’s final displays of insouciance: the unreachable apples and pears ripening on their branches, falling, rolling in the streets; the blackberries left unpicked desiccating on the vine; a gentle quiet settling over the valley. This month's piece serves as a farewell to the sun-laden season so many of us eagerly await but that steals away as quickly and quietly as a wingbeat.
I’d like to dedicate this piece to a dear friend who passed away last month: the warm, inviting, shrewd, brilliant, talented, hilarious, generous, kind, loving — and beloved — Louise.
📷 I took this month’s photo on film in Mt. Hood National Forest.2 I was making my way up to a glacial lake when I found myself in this dense and shadowy wood — one of my favorite places to be — as the sun filled in the gaps between the trees.
I invite you to sit with this song, photo, and poem and make them a small part of your day, whether that’s your morning ritual, afternoon break, or your evening wind-down.
As always, if you feel like it, let me know what you think in the comments. I’d love to hear from you.
Thank you again for being here. Take good care of yourself.
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To the Light of September
by W.S. Merwin3
When you are already here
you appear to be only
a name that tells of you
whether you are present or not
and for now it seems as though
you are still summer
still the high familiar
yet with a glint
of bronze in the chill mornings
and the late yellow petals
of the mullein fluttering
on the stalks that lean
over their broken
shadows across the cracked ground
but they all know
that you have come
the seed heads of the sage
the whispering birds
with nowhere to hide you
to keep you for later
who fly with them
you who are neither
before nor after
you who arrive
with blue plums
that have fallen through the night
perfect in the dew
body by Gia Margaret (Listen)
Reminder: I’m putting all the songs shared in the newsletter into this Spotify playlist (which is basically just a list of my favorite songs)
The Night Watchman by Louise Erdrich (Powell’s)
A recent piece by writer Elizabeth Brownrigg about injury and art, something I also happened to write about a couple of weeks ago. Brownrigg puts it eloquently:
“In the midst of injury, art becomes impossible and also necessary. It's how we find the way back to ourselves, just putting one foot in front of the other, step after slow step.”
Read the full piece below.
Two songs out this month on the wonderful Sonder House label:
All of my songs from Volume I, together for the first (and probably last) time:
My fall and winter instrumental playlist:
Some personal reflections on one year of Fog Chaser:
Wingbeat in F-sharp major, for Louise / Recorded in Logic Pro / Written and produced by Fog Chaser
Wingbeat / 35mm film (Fujifilm Superia / ISO 400) / Mt. Hood National Forest, Oregon, USA / Order a print
Poetry, September 2003