There is something gorgeous about the simplicity of natural earthen work. There is a different rhythm. A different timing. A different honour in it all. This was a gorgeous read and listen. And your song feels like ancient golds, silvers and crystals. 🌞
thank you so so so much, Anna! As I am normally singing only to birds and various varmint passers-by it is so amazing to hear that you enjoy my voice :) Thank you for the love!
I mean... chasing koalas sounds like a pretty good gig too...
So glad you enjoyed the piece and listened to my lil olive song! I thought the cultural history was really interesting too -- I wonder how very, very old the first olive harvest song was.
This is beautiful! Somewhere in my pile of drafts is a piece about when I worked on an herb farm; picking mint and sage. I can relate to the process and what it does for your body/soul. Thanks for sharing.
This is beautifully, Beautifully embodied, Sam. There’s something holy in labor that roots the body when the heart wants to float away or collapse. Your aceitunera reads like a spell of transmutation, grief ripening into seeds, sorrow climbing into branches. I’m deeply moved.
That’s the Samara I’ve always believed in, whose corazón de granada grows its grief into trees. But I’ve learned to hold dear the one who sketches shadows on the wall in whispers that mean to count as reckoning.
And maybe that’s enough, isn’t it? To know something grows, even if we don’t yet know its name.
This is so beautiful, Damien. Thank you for seeing me. “a spell of transmutation, grief ripening into seeds, sorrow climbing into branches” “whose corazón de granada grows its grief into trees” ❤️ Your response was more poetic than my piece :)
To know something grows, even if we don’t yet know its name, indeed.
Superb as always.
Aw thanks :) :)
There is something gorgeous about the simplicity of natural earthen work. There is a different rhythm. A different timing. A different honour in it all. This was a gorgeous read and listen. And your song feels like ancient golds, silvers and crystals. 🌞
thank you so much, Sylvia. Beautifully put and so happy you enjoyed :)
Ugh, beautiful! I love love love ❤️ everything! The writing and the music. The energy. The vibe. Your VOICE!!!
thank you so so so much, Anna! As I am normally singing only to birds and various varmint passers-by it is so amazing to hear that you enjoy my voice :) Thank you for the love!
Ahhh your song and your voice. The beautiful sadness that I love.
I enjoyed learning about olive picking and your time there
Aw thank you for listening, friend, and for finding beauty in the sadness
I chase koalas for a living.. might be time for a career change haha.
Beautiful piece and music, this is heaps up my alley, I love cultural connections and traditional music ❤️
I mean... chasing koalas sounds like a pretty good gig too...
So glad you enjoyed the piece and listened to my lil olive song! I thought the cultural history was really interesting too -- I wonder how very, very old the first olive harvest song was.
They grip the tree a bit harder than an olive, I can tell you that much 😅
It was great! I didn’t realise you made music so I’m extra excited for more of your work now.
Haha who knows? Maybe Orpheus wrote one..
I bet he did! well actually I don’t think that man worked a day in his life… but maybe wrote a song for others picking olives.
Yes! A whole arsenal of songs I’ll pepper in here.
And will be very wary of koalas… 👀
Bahaha too right!
Awesome very much looking forward to hearing more 🤓
Haha they’re ok when they’re in the tree. It’s the adorable ones that attach themselves to your scalp you have to worry about 😂
This is beautiful! Somewhere in my pile of drafts is a piece about when I worked on an herb farm; picking mint and sage. I can relate to the process and what it does for your body/soul. Thanks for sharing.
Exactly - you get it.
This is beautifully, Beautifully embodied, Sam. There’s something holy in labor that roots the body when the heart wants to float away or collapse. Your aceitunera reads like a spell of transmutation, grief ripening into seeds, sorrow climbing into branches. I’m deeply moved.
That’s the Samara I’ve always believed in, whose corazón de granada grows its grief into trees. But I’ve learned to hold dear the one who sketches shadows on the wall in whispers that mean to count as reckoning.
And maybe that’s enough, isn’t it? To know something grows, even if we don’t yet know its name.
This is so beautiful, Damien. Thank you for seeing me. “a spell of transmutation, grief ripening into seeds, sorrow climbing into branches” “whose corazón de granada grows its grief into trees” ❤️ Your response was more poetic than my piece :)
To know something grows, even if we don’t yet know its name, indeed.
Only honoring what was already there. Grateful it still grows. ✨
I love this! I always really enjoyed my job picking apples. It was similarly hypnotic and gave me lots of time to daydream.
Exactly! Perfect gigs for poets - fresh air and mental freedom.
It must have been a beautiful experience lechando. And what a gorgeous song!
It certainly was. Thank you for listening:)