Oh, I tell you, I like this new kind of music called Summer. You think it’s orchestral at first, buds and shoots emerging with formal precision as our vernal star points its batons of light to cue one section of blossoms after another. But then come caesuras of lightning that precede full chords of thunder, followed by staccato raindrops like notes in a tango. And the wind. Must give credit to the wind. The wind is soloist and band, maestro and virtuoso, all in one. Listen, listen, while it drums timpani in the trees – booming the hollows, clacking the branches, then crescendoing to sigh on high among the leaves with a fade like the sizzle of a cymbal. No unrelenting Sturm and Drang here. This flows from soft whispers to breakout passion. Can you feel the urgency swimming in your blood from your heart to your head to your soul and all points in between?

Nothing crosses the bridge between mind and body like rhetoric and rhythms. Summer’s Symphony encompasses all movements, all beats. And it’s free to everyone at any moment whether you’re rich or poor, sunning on the Riviera or sitting in prison. Music is contagious and I hope you catch it.

So, I’m playing the T sax again. Putting my soul through brass. And when I’m running/hiking/biking/canoeing/kayaking/swimming/roller skiing I’m often singing – yeah, out loud. In an odd sort of way, my surroundings seem to control the themes. Today, for instance, a pair of zillion-year-old songs that refer to bears popped out as I ran in the Minnesota woods – “...Running Bear dove in the water” [Running Bear, duh] . . . “the bears and the birds tell Clifton Clowers if a stranger should wander there” [Wolverton Mountain]. Betcha never heard of that last one. I’m pleased to report that no bears were harmed in the alleged singing of these songs…though I did notice a cornfield covering its ears. [fist pump for worst joke ever]

And at the end of this newsletter is some music for the eyes, a.k.a. nature photos as follows: #1-3 hiking at Eastman w/Mickey; #4 yeah, I’m paddling a canoe with a kayak paddle (don’t ask) near Maple Grove; #5-8 another Eastman hike w/Mickey, guardian of ducks and swans; #9-10 one of my sunset runs at Crow Hassan; #11-12 Dirty Shorts 9 concert at Maple Grove’s beautiful Town Green and a good example of how music melds friendships. A few years back Robert Willey, who plays a mean trombone in the band, checked me out playing bad ol’ rock ‘n’ roll on T-sax in a picnic shelter at Elm Creek. He was kind enough to invite me to sit in with his band, and that’s how we became friends. Music does that.

And here’s a bonus short YouTube video, if any of you would like to see my grandson, daughter and self from a recent Michigan trip: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ofb2ZBF3YzA

July’s archived column on StorytellersUnplugged attempts to answer more of your penetrating questions ranging from my sorry journey through college to teaching creative writing to what an idealistic dunce I am about romance in marriage. Here’s the link to UP, UP AND AWAY! – A STORY OF LOST LOVE AND AN OVER-INFLATED DOLL: http://www.storytellersunplugged.com/2015/07/15/thomas-sullivan-up-up-and-away-a-story-of-lost-love-and-an-over-inflated-doll/#respond

Are you staying close to the ground? I don’t mean grounded or down-to-earth, I mean the next time you hit your knees to pray or pull dandelions you should take a look around while you’re down there. Pretend you’re a kid again. Look at things as though for the first time and really SEE them as if they are new. Microscopic scrutiny. Haven’t you had kids crawl all over you taking note of every detail of your appearance and asking impertinent questions? That kind of scrutiny. Leave your expectations out of it and just let your imagination roll unfettered at ground level. You’ll see magic, if you do. And when you get that down pat, you can slowly rise to your feet, continuing the search for magic as you take in the world above ground level. Amazing how much discovery will hit you between the eyes.

Example: hiking an asphalt trail with frequent trail-mate Mickey one day but finding no place where we want to sit and eat our exquisite PB&J sandwiches. Too much civilization to detract from the view – houses, bridge, big clunky signboard. And we are at the end of the trail. Mickey gestures at the signboard and we step around to the other side. PRESTO! There we are in a micro-world of burbling creek, tree roots and tufts of Indian grass on a steep bank. The back of the signboard effectively blocks out all else as we plunk down on a precarious edge to enjoy our repast and the poetry of the moment. It’s why I call my friend Mickey Magic. Hidden universes are everywhere if you’re a child. ‘Scuse me, I have to go color now…

And just in under the wire as this newsletter begins to go out, EULOGIES III is up on Amazon in digital format (as well as paperback). Am honored to have my story HATE ME AFIRE included in what has already become a benchmark collection of short stories: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B013RWKS3Q