Acorn Season

Here in Boston, it is acorn season. It’s that lovely time of year when the mighty oak rains its fruit onto unsuspecting joggers and parked cars, busy roads and forgotten forest floors. They crunch under the weight of car tires, they crunch in the jaws of gleeful dogs (or is that just my sister’s dog? He loves them), they get collected and buried by industrious squirrels, and some are simply left to do their thing, sinking slowly into the earth to take root.

Once the acorn is produced and falls, the tree does not worry. It has done its job. It does not labor over one perfect acorn and put all of its hopes and dreams into the chosen seed. As artists, it’s our job to follow suit.

Every artist will tell you, continuity is key. We get better when we DO better. We have to produce our own volume of acorns if we want to survive. Some won’t be viable, some will be way too rich. Others will be forgotten and may take root in ways we can’t even imagine. There is a divine intelligence that allows the oak to keep growing. While it towers over the busy streets, it is not overly concerned with the personality of the squirrel who has absconded with one of its spawn. It just makes, perhaps with the knowledge that some of these little ones were never meant for tree-dom.

August is my reminder to keep going and share, share, share, even if my songs will inevitably be crushed unceremoniously under the car tires of criticism or, worse, indifference. I increase my chances of taking root and thriving when I keep making.