On our camping trips to northern Quebec we would pass an old farmhouse nestled in the Laurentian’s foothills. Each time in passing we would be drawn to this nine empty room home, long deserted, left to it’s own demise. It was a catalyst of sorts, we started telling each other stories about who had lived there, were there pictures on the walls, and of course ghosts and apparitions played a main part in our storytelling. Everyone has a voice in this tune, even the house gets to sing along as they sway to the mystic rhythm of time.
This week's poem is Season’s End from my collection Horizon. It celebrates the north during our family’s Thanksgiving celebration. It’s here where I find the circle of life most present.
Joy Brooks - Vocal/Flute
Fredrick Brooks - Acoustic guitar/Bass/Piano
Jeff Brackett - Electric guitar
Chris Pezzarello - Drums
Produced and Mastered by Fredrick Brooks and Chris Pezzarello
Recorded at Down Da Stairs Studio
From the albums Leave This Blue and later included on Joy’s solo album titled Joy Palmer Brooks
<Click here to listen to Nine Empty Rooms>
Nine Empty Rooms
Far off beneath the powdered sky
Nine empty rooms are filled with life
There are lovers here
Children’s fears and dreams won and lost
And as you sway to the mystic
Rhythm of time
Caught in a miracle never set aside
I dance at the corner of your eye
For I am watching you, watching you
Calling you
And there’s a moon over Baker Street
Its home take comfort in my disbelief
Breath rises and fall, all in all
I hear nothing but the patter of rainfall
Cry on cry on
House - Wee oh wee a aw
Seven stilled in a faded photograph
Not a heartbeat only their presence lasts
Their silent history is here
Your genus of the past
Lovers and veils, hallways and tears
Passing moments for all who chance near
This apparition speaks to me
The spectre of fantasy, caller of mystery
Chorus
For I am watching you, watching you, calling you (x4)
Wee oh wee a
©Fredrick Brooks
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SEASON’S END
Thanksgiving
Again, I’m off to the North
Soon, I’ll pass the great forests
The Precambrian rock and the deep blue lakes
With the weight of Autumn upon us
The margins of winter draws near
The loons have left in migration
The quiet lakeside is sublime
Hypnotic
It’s here I find the circle of life most present
The silence breathes
The great forest
Welcomes
© Fredrick Brooks 2024
Grass Lake
