We are listening to Nora Jones during warm-up writing. We've never put her on, and it's very soothing...and makes me think about friends and places a million miles away in my mind.
Nora Jones got me through one summer in Brazil a few years. I never stopped listening to her on the plane, on buses, working at the children's home; my earbuds were never far from my body. I put together a photo album of pictures of Brazilian children living in stonecutter's villages. These children were happy. Their homes jutted out from the sides of hills where their front yards, back yards, side yards, and every yard was ground dust leftover from their older siblings and parents cutting through the earth to dig up marble slabs to sell. Every time I see marble tabletops, or marble kitchen counters, I think about the children who grow up learning how to cut marble from the earth for just a few cents a day. They live with no running water, no electricity. They serve alcohol to men. And cook for their mothers. Many walk around without shoes. I visited three days in a row once and never saw any change their clothes. I left them with crayons and fruit and a little piece of my heart.
Seven Years, by Nora Jones
Spinning, laughing, dancing to
her favorite song
A little girl with nothing wrong
Is all alone
Eyes wide open
Always hoping for the sun
And she'll sing her song to anyone
that comes along
Fragile as a leaf in autumn
Just fallin' to the ground
Without a sound
Crooked little smile on her face
Tells a tale of grace
That's all her own
Spinning, laughing, dancing to her favorite song
A little girl with nothing wrong
And she's all alone
This song always brings tears to my eyes for all the children throughout the world who just want someone to stop and listen to their song.
