Scarecrow Rain

Seldom seen by the farmer, down a dirt road, old and lonely, no more than a tractor track really, in a rectangular field cut from the woods, grows a crop sometimes bothered by crows. A scarecrow saviour, held above earth but below sky, silently does his job, rain or shine, sun or moon, until one day when time clicks a particular moment into just the right position. A door opens to a different reality, a certain kind of rain falls, a rain of power and beauty meant for Magical things, Magical beings, such as scarecrows – a Scarecrow Rain.

With the first few drops, the human form raises its head. Human eyes open wide with wonder at what they see. What a beautiful place dreaming has become. Freeing one arm, then the other, then both legs, he steps down from the cross, moving awkwardly at first, but he knows that he can walk and something whispers that he can dance. Slowly, swaying back and forth, his body sensing for the right spaces to exist in, uncertainty gradually gives way to a heart focused flowing ease of circular movement till he's spinning with arms outstretched, head tilted back, reaching, reaching for something unknown. The cool wet impact of each raindrop on his face turns cloth to skin, unravelling the remnants of sleep, leaving only memory and the possibility of new life.

He notices the sound of the rain as its falling down picks up speed. Somewhere out in the green, growing, wet world, he hears a bird cry and wonders what it would be like to have wings. He begins to move as if he's already in flight, closed eyes looking down on his field below. By the time the storm hits, he feels that he's actually flying. High in the air, he dodges lightning, slips through and round dark thundering clouds, borne on a true, true wind of freedom. He feels powerful, peaceful, unafraid.

He awakens again to find himself standing in the field, looking at the cross that once held him, the cross he once bore. He sees what really is, smiles, turns, and walks away.

I'm not a dancer, though something always moves within me to the rhythms of Magical possibilities. Whenever I hear this piece though, I see the added expression of a dancer's movements on stage. I hope to see this story danced someday in a place other than my mind, with an audience bigger than the one musician who wrote it.

But however many people see or hear this small suite, I'd like to dedicate it. I was once told, in a kindly way, of the number of phrases I write with the word "possibility" in them. I was told it was a "Johnism." So be it. I take comfort and inspiration from all the good that might yet be, and there is always a possibility that one can climb down from sorrow and darkness and walk into the Light. So this piece is for all the scarecrows out there who haven't yet found that you can smile, turn, and walk away. And may we all someday awaken to the possibility that suffering is only a dream.

To download the "Black Moon" album, visit the Black Moon album page.

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