The Trip Back
I lift my face up from the wharf
Taste the salt upon my skin
The sands that scratch ‘gainst my scalp
Through outlines of trees
and cut sharply from the horizon
Boats wander lazily in the cool autumn heat
Miles, I’ve laid miles to rest
As segments of memories left in a space
In the fields I pass I extend each memory
Into years foregone
From the wharf, my back turned
I hear a lazy barge
Belch out its past
Contained in nature’s open spaces I could never fill
FBW
(Music to come; lots of arpeggios for those of you who like that kind of thing)
This was written in one sitting after returning from visiting a friend, riding my bicycle from the Gold Coast to Diversey and Surf. I stood at the piano, did not even take the time to sit down, and played it at once, making up the words as I went along. It was one of those days where musical compositions seemed to come down to me and settle atop my hair. Although I was thinking about my friend as I wrote it, I was also reminded of bike rides South to the reservoirs in Bloomington, IN. It was a 25 mile ride, over some very steep hills so that by the time I arrived to the beach (man-made) I was quite sweaty and there was the impression in my mind of the sweat and sand coming together. For some reason, I felt both utterly alone, but not at all lonely. At the time, I was in decent shape and the countryside would just fly by on the ride home, demure and endless. I had that same feeling as I wrote that song. I was utterly alone but not sad about it at all, just solitary and feeling a sort of integrity and wholeness in that state.
