Stories and Songs

3/19/2025

Vernal Equinox 2024—Finding Peace Amidst Crisis

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At this point in time there is little I can do to combat the political storm sweeping over what feels like a failing America and an ever more destabilized world. At times it seems like this is a spring without hope. But despair is pointless, and so I seek ways to give my mind and heart and soul respite from worry and fear. I’m watching nature slowly transition into spring, like nature has done for millions of years, and I know that above all, nature will survive, even if mankind ceases to exist. And I’m continuing with plans to publish my latest book which is not in any way reactionary to the current crisis we face, but rather a celebration of lyrical poetry and song. It is all about how poetry and song can inspire and teach and bring such great joy. During times of chaos, crisis, fear, and poverty everyone needs moments of joy and inspiration—everyone needs to see and smell and touch the early spring blossom and feel the hope it inspires. Strength comes from the ability to rest between challenges and battles. Hope comes from finding beauty amidst or between the storms.
And so bolstered by the hope of nature, which transcends the strife of humanity, I will be strong in mind and body and ready to fight, with words or weapons, for all that is good and right and healthy for all life on Earth. Spring is nature’s revolution, which will always rise again.

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12/19/2024

Winter Solstice 2024—Wanting Winter

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The snow is again late in coming this year here in Salt Lake City, and I find myself truly wanting some real winter to appear. I probably would feel differently if I lived downwind from the Great Lakes and six foot snow drifts covered my driveway!
         But snow and cold are so essential in the hills and mountains because they provide so many critical functions to our natural ecosystems. Not only does the snow insulate many roots and plants, but it protects countless hibernating animals. Then when it melts in spring, the aquifers and rivers and lakes are all recharged, the flowers grow, and the forest flourishes. Furthermore, the bitter cold days and nights from a classic winter in the mountains provide a cleansing of insects from the great forests. It’s as if the trees get to take a cold shower to remove all pests from their buds and bark and limbs.
         For humans who live in seasonal climates, winter not only brings joys like sledding, snowshoeing, skiing and snowboarding, but it also brings beauty and balance to our lives. Whether it be the susurrant murmur of falling snow during near silent moments in the trees or the crystalline diamonds glistening in the slanted low angle sun on fresh powder, there are countless moments of pure clear clean beauty in winter settings. One of my favorites is the bright phosphorescence of snowflakes falling on a snowy night that makes the whole world glow as if bathed in moonlight. And whether it be the biting cold and bitter wind or the blue and white ice and drifts almost too deep to shovel, there are other manty winter moments that make us appreciate the coming spring and summer so much more passionately.
         And so on this Solstice a quarter of the way into the 21st Century, I wait longingly for a winter just like the ones I used to know as a child growing up in Colorado.

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9/14/2024

Autumn Equinox 2024—Learning Sunflower Wisdom

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It’s one week before the Autumnal Equinox, and everywhere I go I see those happy faces of the resilient and charming wild sunflowers. They consistently keep blooming through the heat, the winds and rain, the snow, and some even through a few frosts of autumn. They adapt to almost every kind of space that gathers just a little bit of rain whenever it rains. And they decorate the dusty dry roadsides on every country lane or highway running throughout the West.
       These wonderful sunflowers are drought tolerant, storm tolerant, heat and cold tolerant, tough as nails, and still beautiful. Furthermore, they are an important food source for countless wild birds and other small rodents and mammals.
       Lately I’ve found it difficult to keep a positive outlook while being beaten and battered by climate change’s searing heat, howling winds, and crushing storms. I’ve found it difficult to remain upbeat while watching ignorance rear it’s ugly head in America’s political arena. And it’s tough to navigate the swirling currents of changing technology and AI.
       But when I look at those wild sunflowers smiling brightly throughout it all, following the rain and the sun and freely feeding the wildlife, I gain from them the simple wisdom of quietly doing the best I can to simply adapt to changes, keep intellectually blooming, and dedicate my life to any and all wild things that come my way.
       And so this Autumn Equinox will find me out walking or cycling or perhaps roller skiing along a sunflower-graced roadway basking in their happy glow.

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6/17/2024

Summer Solstice 2024—Seeking Balance

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As the summer solstice nears, I find myself seeking balance in a society that is so badly out of balance that it spins with violent vibrations and forces that threaten to shake it apart. I turn to the balance of the seasons, the harmony of the natural world, and the rhythms of all forms of life to bolster my spirit amidst such troubled times.
I just finished reading Daniel James Brown’s book Boys in the Boat for the second time and am reminded so clearly of the titanic struggles humanity endures between good and evil, love and hatred, honesty and lies. Brown quotes boatbuilder, rower, and philosopher George Yeoman Pocock in that wonderful book with this simple wisdom: “Harmony, balance, and rhythm. They’re the three things that stay with you your whole life. Without them civilization is out of whack.”
Well, today's civilization is out of whack. The natural world is in transition, moving as nature always does, to find new rhythms, harmonies, and balances to compensate for the messes humanity has wrought. The question is, will those new balances of nature have a place for humankind?
Meanwhile, I must find my center in nature in order to keep strong, keep writing, and keep fighting the corruption that threatens our lives, our constitutions, and our natural world. I’ll bask in the summer sun on a mountain lake for the Solstice, and then I’ll return to wield my pen as a soldier in this battle for truth, beauty, and justice.

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3/11/2024

Vernal Equinox 2024 Reaching for the Sun

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I love the simplicity of fresh new green plants breaching the cold, saturated soil and reaching for the spring sun and trusting in the warmth to come.
            Each day as the vernal equinox nears I try to spend a few moments simply observing and enjoying the burgeoning buds and newly visible greenery of spring. And yes, I kneel in the moist earth to smell those first crocuses or daffodils or tulips, even if their smell is more of dust and fresh dirt than sweet floral fragrance. Perhaps it’s just the act of getting close to them, like a bee searching for pollen, that feels so enriching.
            And when I rise again to face the new day, it’s easier to bear the chaos and storm of culture, humanity, politics, and power that surges around me and threatens to sweep everything away.
            Springtime allows me to assert my human right to revel in nature. Some rights should never be taken away. And so I also pray daily that my constitutional rights will survive the big spring storms of society that loom on the horizon.
            Inspired and bolstered by the sun and plants and flowers, I continue to write for hope and faith and devote myself to the great tasks that still lie before me.

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12/17/2023

Winter Solstice 2023—Falling Snowflakes

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It’s almost the Winter Solstice, and I’m again writing and whiling away the darkness with music, projects, crafts, and hobbies. I’m also working on a somewhat experimental book for my next publication, and thought a chapter from that book might fit this year’s solstice nicely. Here is a chapter from this new book: Sing Me a Song, Take Me Along.

Chapter 34: Wintery Images (Gordon Lightfoot’s “Song for a Winter’s Night”)
The act of rereading a good book is often a very personal and experiential journey. When someone asks, for instance, why a reader returns to a work of fiction and rereads it cover to cover, the reply is often that they love to relive the story, revel in the descriptive settings, and reacquant themselves with all the characters and situations.
There are many songs that are stories as well, and equally worthy of “rereading” time and again. This is the case with Gordon Lightfoot’s “Song for a Winter’s Night.” The song is loaded with intimate emotion and imagery, and the speaker of the poem experiences a quintessential loneliness and longing that most of us have experienced ourselves and some of us know very well.
Lightfoot’s susurrant alliteration enhances the pensive mood within this poem. This is particularly evident in the lines The snow is softly falling, / The air is still within the silence of my room where the “s” sound acts to enhance the whisper of falling snow and the subdued nature of winter’s silence. The speaker’s deeply felt sadness settles in the lines The lamp is burning low / my fire is growing dim, and my glass is almost empty. And the mystery of why this speaker is alone is even hinted at with I read again between the lines upon each page. The emotions encompass loneliness and longing, love, companionship, separation, and even quiet sad reflection—all occurring on a snowy winter night in an intimate fire-lit cabin setting, which should be filled with warm companionship, but it’s not.

Song For a Winter’s Night by Gordon Lightfoot

The lamp is burnin' low upon my table top
The snow is softly falling,
The air is still within the silence of my room
I hear your voice softly calling.
If I could only have you near
To breathe a sigh or two,
I would be happy just to hold the hands I love
Upon this winter night with you.

The smoke is rising in the shadows overhead
My glass is almost empty,
I read again between the lines upon each page
The words of love you sent me.

If I could know within my heart
That you were lonely too,
I would be happy just to hold the hands I love
On this winter night with you.

The fire is dying now, my lamp is growing dim,
The shades of night are liftin'.
The morning light steals across my windowpane
Where webs of snow are driftin'.

If I could only have you near
To breathe a sigh or two,
I would be happy just to hold the hands I love
Upon this winter night with you,
And to be once again with with you.

I always tried to present this poem to students on a wintery day following a winter’s night snowstorm. A simple activity was to list all of the words in this poem that start with the letter “s”
and think about what falling snow sometimes sounds like. Sometimes I’d have students make a list of fifteen tone words that reflect the essence of this poem.
The version I enjoyed most for this particular song was recorded by Tony Rice, a consummate guitarist and vocalist who reflected a parallel to the poetry which employed an apex of dynamic musicality that also occurred during this modern renaissance of song. A number of other musicians like Bela Fleck, David Grisman, Sam Bush, Allison Krauss, Mark O'Connor, Jerry Douglas and many more took acoustic music to new heights during the 1960s through the 1990s where they blended jazz, classical, blues, bluegrass, folk, and even classic rock music into blistering hot yet crystal clear arrangements and recordings that will forever remain modern classics in their own right. When fantastic musicality merges with beautiful poetry, the listening experience is wonderful.
Even now in retirement and at home alone I’ll play and sing this song or listen to either Lightfoot or Rice perform it and I’ll relive the intimacy and emotion. And then I'll go outside on a snowy evening and listen to the flakes fall.

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9/11/2023

Autumn Equinox 2023—Wondering Beyond

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The equinox is eleven days away as I write this, but as I gazed at the waning crescent moon rising just next to Venus this morning, I certainly felt an equinox special moment. There is this awareness of perspective that happens when the crescent moon rests against a backdrop of one or more of our solar system's planets that makes me feel both small and large at the same instant. I think that the tiny crescent shadowed by the darkened circle of the moon helps me see the moon in fully rounded three dimensions, and Venus, Mars, and Jupiter are suddenly more than just bright dots, they too become round and more full.
            At these moments, I can visualize the big moon in the foreground with planets circling beyond, and stars and galaxies filling in the backdrop. For just a moment, it's as if I can actually see the vastness of our solar system and I can visualize the vastness of the universe.
            When this happens, astronomy comes alive, much like it does when one looks through a powerful telescope at planets and galaxies.

            By Equinox time this year, 2023, the moon will again be waxing toward full and the stars will again become faint while the moon travels the arc of our sky. On this day, there will be other perspectives to explore, other balances to enjoy, like perhaps the balance of a kayak on open water, or the balance of waves on the lake, and the dance of raindrops returning to a larger source, falling from cloud to lake, cloud to ground and stream and river and sea. And all will be awaiting the colorful pageantry of turning leaves.
            As I enjoy the sun-filled late September day and the moon-drenched early autumn night, I'll clearly feel and sense my own balance. Then for just a few perfect moments I'll forget all my cares and worries about life and humanity so that I can be simply one with the universe, both infinitesimally small and infinitely large.

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6/13/2023

Summer Solstice 2023 Awakening, Accepting, and Changing

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About sixteen years ago, when I turned 49, I decided to learn a new musical instrument—the fiddle. I wanted to keep my mind fresh and growing with new challenges, but I also was trying to adapt to a physiological change in my hands and musical ability.
            Early in my youth I spent countless hours working with my dad cutting and treating beatle killed pine trees on our 45 acres of land in the foothills above Boulder, Colorado. It seems that all those wonderful summers of working the Ponderosa pine forest, running a chainsaw, loading logs onto the carriage and receiving the sweet-scented fresh cut boards for stacking at our little sawmill, and hand splitting the tough sinewy pine logs full of incredibly tough knots set into motion a physical change in my hands and wrists that would not manifest itself until many years into my manhood.
            In addition, during my youth, teens, twenties, thirties and beyond I became an avid cyclist. I rode thousands of miles, even touring Europe. I also raced, and yes, I crashed a few times. One crash resulted in a ruptured bursa sac in my right elbow. "It will heal in time," explained the orthopedist, "but you might feel it when carrying heavy buckets when you get older." He should have asked if I played a musical instrument, and perhaps I would have sought out physical therapy at the very least.
            This is because I had learned to fill out my active work and outdoor life with artistic balance, and I became a folk musician, first a guitarist, then a banjo player. From the age of 20 to the age of 40 I enjoyed practicing into being a semi-professional performer, and the banjo rang from the rafters of smoky bars clear into the brilliant blue summer skies and canyons of the desert where I performed songs that echoed from the canyon walls.
            But the long years of hand labor and woodcutting, and the injuries from cycling and perhaps the strain from mountain biking and rowing rafts eventually took its toll, and at 45 I found that my right hand dexterity was changing. I could not play the banjo with the precision, timing, accuracy, and strength required to maintain what I considered a performance level ability. I could still play, mind you, and still do enjoy the sweet sound of the banjo, but the spark and quickness were gone.
            That's when I decided that learning to bow the fiddle with my right hand just might get me back up to the speed and accuracy that I so longed for when playing my favorite Irish and Scottish fiddle tunes, or for playing along with other musicians on any type of music.
            Now, sixteen long years later, I'm finally there, able to play most of my favorite songs just like I used to do on the banjo. So as I practice violin somewhere out in the yard in the warm summer weather nearing the longest day of the year, I ponder changing seasons, new awakenings, and most of all, acceptance of change. I only wish that I could change as easily and effortlessly as nature does with her revolving seasons!
            Today I think I'll play the lively fiddle tune June Apple. Happy Summer Solstice everyone!

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3/17/2023

Vernal Equinox 2023—Adapting to Changes

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It's almost here, and as I watch each morning as the lovely waning crescent moon become ever more slender, I think back and reflect. Six months ago at the Autumnal Equinox I thought about winter and said, "I hope we get lots of rain and snow this winter." I got my wish, and the thirsty desert will drink deeply as spring melts those near record snows and rivers and streams once again rush through the canyons towards the sea, and some flowing into the Great Salt Lake.
            I know, however, that the drought is not over, just like I know that climate is still drastically changing, and of course I know that for me, the key is attitude adjustment and adaptation. When the reservoirs and lakes again get really full, we'll take out the kayaks and cruise through newly refreshed wetlands and revel in the birdlife and insect life that is rejuvenated. As the Great Salt Lake comes up a little bit, we'll again kayak there as well, enjoying the salty solitude and dramatic vast vistas that are so unique to it's waters and distant landforms. And we'll hike up to the summer snowfields to feel their coolness and enjoy mountain cascades as the summer comes in and the inevitable heat returns. I might even get a few summer telemark ski turns in this year.
            The wind, however, continues to blow. That's a little harder to adapt to, but it's an inevitable part of the greater changes in climate. The wind has always blown across the lands of our world, but it seems to me that it's become a bit more incessant in recent years. It seems that absolutely calm, windless periods of time are getting shorter and shorter. So again, I am adapting. On breezy days I carry with me my small, trusty kite and fly it overhead. And recently, we bought an intermediate kiteboard kite so that we can harness some of the windy days, and with luck, tackle the learning curve and try a little kite skiing in winter, and a little kite sailing in summer. We'll see how that goes!!!
            Of course, we always carry our small sails on our ocean kayaks, and always harness the winds on water when they are not too strong. When they get fiercer, we linger beside the lakes and listen to the cacophony of waves as they polish the stones and deposit new sands to the shores.
            So on this Vernal Equinox I'll stand outside on a the first new moon morning of spring and say, "I hope the summer is not too hot, not too windy, and that we get some gentle showers and some rainbows and some beautiful but not too violent thunderstorms. I hope . . ." But I know that there's a chance that we'll catapult from a cold, chilly, wet spring into a hot, windy, dusty, dry summer. And I'll adapt again—I'll seek shade and wake early each day to revel in the coolness of dawn and remember the snows of an amazing winter.

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12/17/2022

Winter Solstice 2022 -- Reflecting Light

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Light forms diamonds on icy crystals of snow in the low, slanting winter sunshine, the Winter Solstice arrives, and it's time for me to reflect for a moment before turning my gaze into the returning sun of a new year.
            I'm reminded of many memories of special winter moments where the play of light and darkness becomes so very poignant. In reality, there is much light that occurs during the darkest days of the year. The magical phosphorescence of a warm winter snowstorm comes to mind, or perhaps the brilliant chilly starlight that follows the storm as the skies clear and the temperatures plummet. During these darkest days, when the sun does shine fully, I seem to appreciate its shortened, ephemeral moments more than ever. The sparkle of sun on snow, or the shimmering of sun on the rare patch of unfrozen water are jewels to cherish. I also love to see the rays pierce the icicles that hang from trees, cliffs, stream cascades, and roof eaves. And then there's the winter moon rising high in the sky illuminating the nights with a cold warmth and stark shadows that fall upon the blanket of snow. Beyond that are the rainbow sun dogs that precede the storms, and beyond that and further north, for some, the Aurora Borealis.
            It seems that light is more precious in winter, like shade is cherished in summer, or like warm breezes in spring and cool moist breezes in autumn. And as I consider that light, I also consider and reflect on the magical moments that made up the year, especially those outdoor moments.
            Each month this year held a special memory: I recall a January day skate skiing on perfect cold snow in brilliant sunlight beneath deep blue sky and bright sun. For an hour in February, I ice skated on the glass clear frozen surface of a huge lake at sunset. In March there was a moment where the cold spring snow turned magically into running water. April brought rain and flowers, and May more rain—the first warm rain of the summer, and fruit blossoms. One May day found us kayaking on a Wyoming lake beneath white, snowy peaks feeling a warm wind and rain that within a day would bring the entire snowpack down in a massive mountain flood. In June, more warm rain fell, and mountain wildflowers greeted us on a forgotten trail where we walked with the moose, deer and elk. July brought some rare and beautiful thundershowers and a few mornings paddling on glassy calm waterways. In August I found edible wild mushrooms and savored their freshness as they simmered in butter and melted in my mouth. September was hot enough to make me wish for winter, but late in September we woke to see a dusting of snow high in the mountains. In October it rained even more, such a wonderful thing, and we escaped to the Colorado River for a short trip on its swollen muddy floodwaters, the days still hot, but the nights moist and cool. And in November it began to snow and become cold, so out came the cross country skis! And as December commenced, so did the writing of my next book—an enjoyment to work on during those long, dark nights.
            Not all memories of this past year are so magical, nor so great. World events seemed to worsen as well. But as I see those rays of sun angled low and illuminating the world with slanted light, I choose to reflect on good things and hope for the coming new year.

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The music of Memories
Outdoors, out west, out of the ordinary

Mark Doherty

Vernal Equinox 2024—Finding Peace Amidst Crisis

Winter Solstice 2024—Wanting Winter

Autumn Equinox 2024—Learning Sunflower Wisdom

Summer Solstice 2024—Seeking Balance

Vernal Equinox 2024 Reaching for the Sun

Winter Solstice 2023—Falling Snowflakes

Autumn Equinox 2023—Wondering Beyond

Summer Solstice 2023 Awakening, Accepting, and Changing

Vernal Equinox 2023—Adapting to Changes

Winter Solstice 2022 -- Reflecting Light

Author

Links to audio recordings of Mark's lyrical poetry:

Whitewater Eyes https://youtu.be/qd0rsmzC5fg

Moenkopi Memories https://youtu.be/c_Kq4FQYFKk

Look for more coming soon!

The music of Memories Outdoors, out west, out of the ordinary

Mark Doherty

Author

Links to audio recordings of Mark's lyrical poetry:Whitewater Eyes https://youtu.be/qd0rsmzC5fg Moenkopi Memories https://youtu.be/c_Kq4FQYFKkLook for more coming soon!

The music of Memories
Outdoors, out west, out of the ordinary

Links to audio recordings of Mark's lyrical poetry:

Whitewater Eyes https://youtu.be/qd0rsmzC5fg

Moenkopi Memories https://youtu.be/c_Kq4FQYFKk

Look for more coming soon!