One Fine Day

[Video: time-lapse film of an entire year in a wooded area, over “One Fine Day,” by David Byrne and Brian Eno (lyrics in the note at the end of this post)]

From whiskey river:

The Storm

Now through the white orchard my little dog
romps, breaking the new snow
with wild feet.
Running here running there, excited,
hardly able to stop, he leaps, he spins
until the white snow is written upon
in large, exuberant letters,
a long sentence, expressing
the pleasures of the body in this world.

Oh, I could not have said it better
myself.

(Mary Oliver [source])

…and:

Life moves on, whether we act as cowards or heroes. Life has no other discipline to impose, if we would but realize it, than to accept life unquestioningly. Everything we shut our eyes to, everything we run away from, everything we deny, denigrate or despise, serves to defeat us in the end. What seems nasty, painful, evil, can become a source of beauty, joy, and strength, if faced with an open mind. Every moment is a golden one for him who has the vision to recognize it as such. Life is now, every moment, no matter if the world be full of death. Death triumphs only in the service of life.

(Henry Miller [source])

Not from whiskey river:

(In Terry Pratchett’s Discworld novels, Death often appears as a character. He’s the familiar figure — bones, black hooded robe, rides a giant white horse, and so on — and he speaks in small capitals, Like This. But he’s also a contemplative. He has a sense of humor. He feels. In many ways he’s the most human of all of Pratchett’s characters. In the scene here presented, Death is rummaging through his desk. With him is his, um, well, his tiny and ultra-specialized minion, the Death of Rats.)

He went back to his desk and opened a drawer.

There was a thick book there, bound in night. On the cover, where a book like this might otherwise say “Our Wedding” or “Acme Photo Album” it said memories.

Death turned the heavy pages carefully. Some of the memories escaped as he did so, forming brief pictures in the air before the page turned, and then went flying and fading into the distant, dark corners of the room. There were snatches of sound, too, of laughter, tears, screams, and, for some reason, a brief burst of xylophone music that caused him to pause for a moment.

An immortal has a great deal to remember. Sometimes it’s better to put things where they will be safe.

One ancient memory, brown and cracking around the edges, lingered in the air over the desk. It showed five figures, four on horseback, one in a chariot, all apparently riding out of a thunderstorm. The horses were at a full gallop. There was a lot of smoke and flame and general excitement.

Ah, the old days, said Death. Before there was this fashion for having a solo career.

Squeak? the Death of Rats inquired.

Oh, yes, said Death. Once there were five of us. Five horsemen. But you know how things are. There’s always a row. Creative disagreements, rooms being trashed, that sort of thing. He sighed. And things said that perhaps should not have been said.

He turned a few more pages and sighed again. When you needed an ally, and you were Death, on whom could you absolutely rely?

His thoughtful gaze fell on the teddy bear mug.

(Terry Pratchett, from Thief of Time [source])

…and:

For Laurel and Hardy on My Workroom Wall

They’re tipping their battered derbies and striding forward
In step for a change, chipper, self-assured,
Their cardboard suitcases labeled
Guest of Steerage. They’ve just arrived at the boot camp
Of the good old French Foreign Legion
Which they’ve chosen as their slice of life
Instead of drowning themselves. Once again
They’re about to become their own mothers and fathers
And their own unknowable children
Who will rehearse sad laughter and mock tears,
Will frown with completely unsuccessful
Concentration, and will practice the amazement
Of suddenly understanding everything
That baffles them and will go on baffling them
While they pretend they’re only one reel away
From belonging in the world. Their arrival
Will mark a new beginning of meaningless
Hostilities with a slaphappy ending. In a moment,
They’ll hear music, and as if they’d known all along
This was what they’d come for, they’ll put down
The mops and buckets given them as charms
With which to cleanse the Sahara and move their feet
With a calm, sure, delicate disregard
For all close-order drill and begin dancing.

(David Wagoner [source])

Gloriously, the entire film described in the poem above is on YouTube. The whole thing is an hour long, so if you’d like to watch it be sure to settle into a comfortable chair first. Here’s that one scene, though, from The Flying Deuces:

_____________________________________

Note: Lyrics to the song in the video which opens this post:

One Fine Day
(David Byrne and Brian Eno,
from the album Everything That Happens Will Happen Today)

Saw the wandrin’ eye- inside my heart
Shouts and battle cries- from ev’ry part
I can see those tears- ev’ry one is true
When the door appears- I’ll go right through-oooh

I stand in liquid light- like ev’ryone
I built my life with rhymes- to carry on
And it gives me hope- to see you there
The things I used to know- that one fine

One fine day
One fine day

In a small dark room- where I will wait
Face to face I find- I contemplate
Even though a man- is made of clay
Ev’rything can change- one fine-

One Fine Day…

Then before my eyes- Is standing still
I beheld it there- a city on a hill
I complete my tasks- one by one
I remove my masks- when I am done

Then a piece of mind- fell over me
In these troubled times- I still can see
We can use the stars– to guide the way
It is not that far- one fine…

One fine day
One fine day…

[source]

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