This song uses a form resembling a rondeau, which repeats three times. The ending refrain of one verse elides into the beginning refrain of the next. In the repeated refrains, only the rentrement is sung, and the rest of the form is played instrumentally.

Maria Alejandra Velasquez Restrepo – voice
Lisa Jensen – oboe
Nina Horvath– keys
Buff Allen – drums and percussion
Trevor Tunnacliffe – bass, baritone guitar

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Broccoli

(Amanda)

The season’s cycle is a breathing:

Its heave and sigh evolving over time,

Each moment born out of the last.

A mise en abyme recursively unfolds.

 

This garden needs a resurrection,

Its former fettle frivoled with neglect

The founding family outcast.

 

The season’s cycle is a breathing:

Its heave and sigh evolving over time,

Each moment born out of the last.

 

With care, the garden will restore itself.

Be still, attend: intuit what it needs

This harvest will be unsurpassed.

The flora murmurs potential it withholds.

 

The season’s cycle is a breathing:

Its heave and sigh evolving over time,

Each moment born out of the last.

A mise en abyme recursively unfolds.

 

The forebears knew the shifting weather.

Their wisdom honed through ages handed down.

A depth of practice long amassed.

 

The season’s cycle is a breathing:

Its heave and sigh evolving over time,

Each moment born out of the last.

 

The fern fronds shimmer in the hollows.

The southern face absorbing warmth and light,

Exuding whispers of the past.

The tweet chorus chimes: here once were orange groves.

 

The season’s cycle is a breathing:

Its heave and sigh evolving over time,

Each moment born out of the last.

A mise en abyme recursively unfolds.

 

Behold brassica oleracea:

Its growing wild, thriving and vigorous,

So here a new bed will be cast.

 

The season’s cycle is a breathing:

Its heave and sigh evolving over time,

Each moment born out of the last.

 

Enough of patient observation.

I need to sink my fingers in the loam

And toil in practice of my craft.

Prepare to release the life this garden holds.

 

The season’s cycle is a breathing:

Its heave and sigh evolving over time,

Each moment born out of the last.

A mise en abyme recursively unfolds.