“A drizzly day and an uneasy quiet in the hills of springtime Vermont. None-the-less, we have songs to finish and friendships to nurture. We’ve walked our talk, and swept the path, and returning to the studio feels like a reward for time served. I can’t help but remember back to when she was slinging hash & working with guys just out of prison. But time marches forward, into uncharted waters. Now we share video links to cross pollinate our minds, and compare notes. Our political minds are active, though we both live in a world defined by barn chores and late frost. The donkeys are learning to trust her, and allow their feet to be trimmed. I’ve let go believing that my world could ever return to its former state of blissful ignorance. I see who is still holding on to their square footage of normalcy, while others are thrown to the wind. I get it. Stay in the delusion as long as you can. We may not meet again in this lifetime. While daffodils blossom, like beacons of hope, I close up what is left of my life. I must move on from an illusion that no longer serves me. And these songs that come from the depths of long winter nights, from the honest struggle of knowing things are wrong, they create an environment of safety. For it’s truth that ultimately shelters truth seekers, as they face their own humbling circumstances. I’m seeing the crumbling of the rights & freedoms we took for granted. I’m soaking my tools in vinegar, salt and baking soda, to remove the rust. I’m making plans to drive from east to west, without any mom & pop store open to pick up a cup of coffee. I’ll have to go without. I’ll have to rearrange my life, again. This time, to accommodate the tyranny of those who know nothing of our life here in Vermont as well as those who do. The raw voices in the sky are calling in, and calling out. These are my blessed guides.”
