Spider

Today while walking in my garden

a spiders web blocked my path.

I stepped around it.

Why disturb the little master?

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I wrote the small piece today after I actually took a walk in the garden. The plants, still wet with rain drops from the night before, glistened in the morning sun, and a beautiful earthy aroma rose from the soil. I came to a part where the path is very narrow and a spider’s web crossed there. The wed was tiny and delicate, it too glistened with rain and a minute spider sat royally in the centre. He or she was so tiny I did not have the heart to knock the web down and make it  do the work again so I stepped over it.

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I wanted to share the lyrics to ‘The Ballad of Lucy Jordan.’ It is the story of a middle class woman in a comfortable world who goes mad. During the day she cannot handle her boring life and its inane options and has a mental breakdown. She laments that she, at 37 years old would not ride through Pairs in a sports car. After her breakdown she climbs to the roof, until an ambulance arrives to take her to a mental hospital. Finally after being helped off the roof the men take her away where she believes she is riding through the streets of Paris.

When I was younger I believed that she leaped from the roof, died and in death, dreamed she was driving through Paris. After considering the words It is not the ultimate sad story of madness and death as I originally believed, but a story of a woman who is driven mad by her lifestyle and is taken away for help.

The Ballad of Lucy Jordan

The morning sun touched lightly on
The eyes of Lucy Jordan
In a white suburban bedroom
In a white suburban town

And she lay there ‘neath the covers
Dreaming of a thousand lovers
‘Til the world turned to orange
And the room went spinning round

At the age of 37
She realized she’d never ride
Through Paris in a sports car
With the warm wind in her hair

So she let the phone keep ringing
As she sat there softly singing
Pretty nursery rhymes she’d memorized
In her Daddy’s easy chair

Her husband he’s off to work
And the kids are off to school
And there were oh so many ways
For her to spend her days

She could clean the house for hours
Or rearrange the flowers
Or run naked through the shady street
Screaming all the way

At the age of 37
She realized she’d never ride
Through Paris in a sports car
With the warm wind in her hair

So she let the phone keep ringing
As she sat there softly singing
Pretty nursery rhymes she’d memorized
In her Daddy’s easy chair

The evening sun touched gently on
The eyes of Lucy Jordan
On the rooftop where she climbed
When all the laughter grew too loud

And she bowed and curtsied to the man
Who reached and offered her his hand
And he led her down to the long white car that waited past the crowd.

At the age of 37
She knew she’d found forever
As she rode along through Paris
With the warm wind in her hair

THE BOMBER out June 24th 2015