Pennies From Heaven

Oh every time it rains
It rains pennies from heaven
Don't you know each cloud contains
Pennies from heaven
You'll find your fortune
Fallin' all over town
Be sure that your umbrella is upside down
Trade them for a package of sunshine and flowers
It you want the things you love
You must have showers
So when you hear it thunder
Don't run under a tree
There'll be pennies from heaven
For you and me.

This is from the song Pennies From Heaven, sung by the legendary Billie Holiday. While the lyrics carry a heavy load of hackneyed expressions such as "rain for flowers", the message is a good one, and the tune is smooth enough to soothe your aching soul. The rain, which she refers to as pennies from heaven, has several different connotations. The use of pennies has this sense of worthlessness, but at the same time treasure and value when in vast numbers. This metaphor helps the listener understand what sort of perspective the singer is looking at their circumstances from.

Ironic, though, that Billie Holiday would sing such a light-hearted song, while her life would later on become riddled with drug use, heavy drinking, and abusive relationships. It's still a nice idea, I suppose. But then again, it's silly if you think about it. Pennies falling from the sky? Wouldn't that hurt terribly, smacking us on our heads?

Valentine

We fight like cats and dogs, you and I, but there is no doubt, that if I were to spend the rest of my life fighting someone, I'd want it to be you, just so that if I were to spend the rest of my like making up with someone, then it would be with you too. I can barely stand to talk to you sometimes, but you're always the first one I want to call and tell the news. Sounds a little weird and crazy, but I'm crazy, crazy, crazy in love.

I'm sorry, I know our love is unconventional and unfit for the heart-shaped sugar cookies and swirly, red greeting cards. Even so, will you buy into the conventions and commercialism, just for a day, and be my Valentine?

The Principle of the Path

There is a path, and I am walking on it. During the sunshine I stroll. Sometimes during the night I run for fear. During a storm I tread carefully, for my footing is unsure. Whatever circumstance that crosses the path, I am constantly moving, like a pilgrim to their holy place.

There is something inside of me that keeps me going-- a steady beat that I must keep up with. And It grows stronger with every step.

By this path are sign posts, worn and battered by the passing winds. They have no direct labelings, but you can tell by their appearance what message they are giving. You see, these signs were once men and women. Long ago, these men decided they no longer wanted to journey on. They stood still, merely facing the direction they were once headed. Slowly, the steady beating inside faded, and they grew into their surroundings. You will see many of these on your way. They are almost colorless, unsaturated. . . Like a faded, black and white photograph, taken of the very moment they took their last step.

The mother with her baby in her arms, green vines crawling up her feet and ankles, stands cold and composed like an ancient marble pillar. Though her monumental figure has been worn by time, you can see marks that were there long before time stood still. A soft shade of blue under her eye. . . a blush of red across the cheek. Silent, yet she speaks. What does she have to say? Her eyes will say it all. The baby in her arm is also silent. She too is cold and unmoving.

I have passed many of these sign posts along the way. Sometimes I am sure their phantom figures are moving along side me, trying to pull me into their mossy graves. It is only a figment of my imagination, though. I am safe on this path if I keep my step. Often on a day rough for traveling I question my journey. I wonder when my wanderings will come to an end and I will have found my home. There are many times I pity myself-- here I am a poor, tired traveler. I have had no time to collect any possessions for myself or stop and build a place of rest. But that doesn't really matter, does it? For though I may be a poor traveler, I have a path and a step, like a drummer has a beat. And it grows stronger with every step.