just tread water
This morning I woke to the sound of rain, shy in its arriving. It had crept on in while I was sleeping and I woke to the feeling that it had been here a while. By the time I rose, gave my boys a cuddle, grabbed Dusty’s lead and walked him up into the hills behind our house, the rain had already swept on by. Looking to the east where the sun was veiled by a dance of clouds, there was a curtain of wispy rain streams turning their back to me. Pivoting to look out upon the West MacDonnell ranges Tjoritja there was a sheer curtain of possible rain that looked like it may come in this direction, if it didn’t disappear into the sweeping clouds beforehand.
The making of this song started with a fun chord progression on the ukulele. Sliding bar chords up and down the neck of the small stringed instrument, I liked the high timbre ringing out, conjuring waves of a pacific lullaby in its steady pattern up and down. Then I started to play with layering vocal melodies over the top. At some point a few words landed and the beginnings of the song started to take form. Sometimes with songs I can’t rush them, almost needing to rock and cradle them like a baby until the spine is really strong. Waiting for them to be ready to be coaxed some more, to stand up on their own.
This week I’ve been noticing lots of people around me walking heavily, yawning, commenting on how extraordinarily tired they’re feeling. The air lethargic, I’ve had encounters with friends, colleagues, strangers, their eyes stunned like rabbits in headlights sighing comments like oh is it that time of the year, already? Oh no, but I still have so much to do and I’m so terribly tired. I have been feeling like there’s an unflinching parade of juggling pins being thrown at me and I don’t have the clarity of mind to have any foresight with what to do with them. But I catch them, one by one. I action them, respond to them, even if it means putting them in the in-tray to deal with later. Just in time to catch the next one. Right now, with heavy bones and a drowsy mind, all I can do is keep my head above water. Tread water and wait for the tide to turn. I do what I can to inhale a sense of buoyancy. And remind myself, also, to exhale.
A song’s spine can grow from a chord progression, a verse that rolls along and gives a path that the singer and listener can return to as a story unfolds. In this case the verse of the song is about stepping into rhythm with the world around you, an acceptance that sometimes the sun shines and other times it rains. Synchronicity and flow. But every now and then just as you peak, as you rise to meet the chorus, the tide turns and you’re left out at sea not knowing what to do.
I will get through my last checklist of things to do before the end of the year. And those I don’t get to will just have to wait until next year. I’ll keep catching the juggling pins, one by one. I’ll yawn. I’ll remind everyone just how tired I’m feeling. And at some point, this will turn, deep sleep will find me, air will find its way back into my bones, I’ll wake with a lightness in my step. When this time comes, I’ll lift my arms above my head to begin to stroke, looking back to the arriving wave, kicking my legs out behind me, feeling that wonderful sense of moving with the water.
just tread water
somewhere somebody is flying
in the house just next door
somebody is falling
you and I we are just rolling
on and on and on with these waves
we are ebb and flowing
when the tide is out
there’s no need to kick and shout
just tread water
‘til it turns back in
somewhere in the world the sun is shining
in another part of the world
the rain is pouring
you and I we are rock and rolling
like the sun and the moon
in this dance we are turning
when the tide is out
there’s no need to kick and shout
just tread water
‘til it turns back in
sky is grey, darkness looms
clouds roll in, thunder booms
somewhere in the world the sun is shining
