Nick Drake. The wonder of discovery of this lost soul for many of us in the late 90s. Ghostly and withdrawn he passes through like something remarkable outside your window you’re likely to miss.
travel
The song of myself is a crude souvenir
The most precious things we keep hold meaning for only us, and it’s those things we surround ourselves with as time takes all the rest.
Advent of absence
We can curl up with our cats and blankets and books and reheat yesterday’s soup.
“True Love Waits”
I pointed out the moon to Lily as we drove the 900 to her friend Sabrina’s house and we put on the same Radiohead CD we listened to last time, the sad song at the end, “True Love Waits.” Lily… Read More ›
The interstitials
Sitting outside as the storm gathers, on the outer edge of it: thinking that all things have their edges good or bad, where they begin.
Song for April, 2008
It took me way too long to appreciate the nuance in that record, called April and released on April 1, 2008.
Spring frost
By the end of March I’d started taking Ginger on daily walks up the trails near my mom’s house in Germany. There were two sets of trails, but I didn’t know what they were called so I referred to one… Read More ›
Song for early morning meditation
Early morning walks from the cottage in January as the light is coming on earlier day by day.
Any day a holiday
Knowing we had it good then but not realizing how much.
Happiness is easy
That jig-saw view of life taken apart, put back together.
Bill Pearse 