Early in 2025, seeing the destruction being wrought on my beloved country, by the people in power in Washington DC, was almost more than I could bear. A good friend challenged me to write a protest song for the moment. While this piece didn’t turn out to be that type of statement, I felt I needed to express the deep love I have for my country….something many of us didn’t know we had, until the threat of our precious democracy being annihilated, arrived at our doorstep. May there be a time, in the not-too-distant future, when all our trials are behind us and brighter suns will shine. ‘We Resist, Hope prevails, We Rise! ‘ This is Part Two of the Resistance Suite.

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I have a big, beautiful garden. I look at it every day out my window. I walk through it often and at all times of the day or night. It brings me great calm and joy. I started this piece as a celebration of that space. But during the writing process, something changed. I have a dear friend, and fellow gardener, Maria.  This summer, she received a diagnosis of cancer. And within 3 weeks she was gone. We thought we had time. This composition is for her. The different sections of the piece became a metaphor for her life and death. I will remember her always as a joyous garden spirit.

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This contra dance piece was written in honor of my daughter’s wedding. It was performed at the local Town Hall where a local band played while the attendees danced to this piece. The dragonfly has a special role in the wedding planning for Ava and Genevieve; while discussing their wedding details at their cabin, a resident dragonfly had the final say on the choice of a wedding date! Ask them to tell you the story. 

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Hurry up; take a breath; savor the sunrise; no time to waste. Slow down; pause at the sound of bird songs; smell the flowers in my garden. Sing to quiet the babe, to rock her to sleep, to quiet my soul. Outta time, Outta rhyme.  

All those things I’ve been meaning to do, meaning to say, meaning to forgive… Outta time, Outta rhyme.

All those coulda’s, all those woulda’ and shoulda’s, but do I still wanna’s???? Outta time, Outta rhyme. 

Dance a jig with my love. They might not be here tomorrow. I might not be here the day after. Too late, no second chance. Outta time, Outta rhyme. 

Learning to, no, grasping at, accepting life’s limits, my limits, the limits of time, of aging, of ambition (where did it go?). Frightened by diminishing independence while searching for more meaningful interdependence. Outta time, Outta rhyme. 

Sadness at what I’ve always wanted to do but still have not accomplished. Regret for the things I wished I’d done but didn’t. Did I lack the courage? Or perhaps, I just couldn’t see where I was going and didn’t trust the journey to give me the answers. Maybe tomorrow, maybe next time (will there be a next time?). Be brave. Take that risk. Outta time, Outta rhyme. 

But let’s not forget the joy, too. There has been more of that than I ever dared to dream.  Grateful for what I have, so much, so much. No reason to be sad. And yet, some loved ones are already gone. I miss them deeply. They were out of time before their time. And yet, by some miracle, I am still here. Despite all the see-sawing, life has been spectacularly fine! Blessedly good. Outta time, Outta rhyme… Now’s the Time!

-Marcie Meditch
March 2024

(Everybody Loves You!)

This piece was written to honor the positive spirit of a dear friend who lifted the hearts of many. She has left this earth. But she will always be with us and would want us to “keep the party going”!

Inspired by an excerpt from a poem by Wendell Berry “The Wild Geese”, this piece came about as an assignment for a composition class. My selection of this particular poem was due to a near spiritual experience. While standing in my garden, early one morning, I heard or actually felt, a whooshing, pulsing, vibration right about my head. Looking up, two dozen geese were flying overhead, very low to the ground….but in complete silence! Only the perfectly synchronized motion of their wings, like a soft, gentle, rhythmic drumbeat, floated down to me. I remained perfectly still, feeling their silent blessing wash over me.

Below is the poem excerpt:
Geese appear high over us,
pass, and the sky closes. Abandon,
as in love or sleep, holds
them to their way, clear
in the ancient faith: what we need
is here. And we pray, not
for new earth or heaven, but to be
quiet in heart, and in eye,
clear. What we need is here.

-Wendell Berry

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