“Remember the Mountain Bed” – Wilco
My lungs and thighs still burn from the trek up, the skies overhead are dark grey and threaten rain, the winds bite hard and threaten snow.
“It’s No Use” – Zuzu’s Petals
as the northern sun finally set, he took refuge from the blackflies underneath the truck canopy. he sat on top of his sleeping bag eating cheap
It may not seem like much. Its humble fare indeed but washed down with an ice-cold pilsner on a hot July evening . . . its about as fine a thing as you can find.
Warm sleeping bag. Cold morning air. The grass heavy with dew. The sky bright with promise. Birds chirp. The temptation to sleep battles the temptation to fish. A full
Teaching people to fly fish sucks.
Its a noble thing surely, but its also a royal pain in the ass.
You spend the day tying and untying knots when you could be fishing, worrying
“Winter’s Love” – Animal Collective
Three flights and a boat ride away from your world.
It all sort of melts away the moment you step off the panga. Everything stops to matter
“She says springtime’s coming, wait ’til you see It’s poking through with them shoots of beauty It’s the end of rent-a-movie weather It’s time to end this siege together” –
“Winter Road” – Bill Callahan
Hours of anticipation, all for a few seconds of composed chaos.
The dog’s demeanor changes. Bodies go tense. An uneasy silence settles in. The safety clicks. Suddenly a rush of
“A Day Is Very Long” – Doug Paisley
the warm sun of September,
the bitter wind of November.
up and down the valley hills,
over yellow grasses, under blue skies