Friday, January 13, 2017

Five Fingers (June 2013)

Falling asleep on the edge of the woods in Frederick, MD in a large log home my parents are about to put on the market although I always had this dream that one day one of my songs might make enough money that I could pay off the house for them and still have my place in Nashville and buy their worry off their back with my dream that they helped pay for when I was much younger but sofar that has not happened and so instead of wish for things out of my reach I will be grateful that I had an evening off to come here and have dinner with my family and watch a movie with my parents and listen to the falling rain on the large windows that look out to the creek and the acres and acres of trees that when I was much much younger my father might have taken me on walks amongst in order to collect and classify the leaves to identify the trees, shadowing the forester.

These are things that I am made of: a five finger spread against a red gold leaf, the afterburn musk of a campfire, a bushel of hard shell crabs slathered in Old Bay on a Bethany deck, the hum of my now 13 year old niece when she was the size of my forearm cradled in warm bath water while I sang to her, the Boston accent that slipped and slid from my grandmother's words, oyster stew and lemon meringue, a hound leaning on my knee and letting go, an oversized Red Jesus Bible, and a Maryland rain lullabye.

No comments:

Post a Comment