Autumn means change
I'm sitting in Glasgow, waiting for Richard Swift to take the stage before Damien Jurado, anticipating an evening of fantastic storytelling through song. The trains are rumbling past, shaking the walls and the floor of the Arches, reminding us of our smallness in a grand city.
The red lights are strangely calming, especially after all of today's chat about Halloween and scaring small children. Perhaps they shoulf represent the edge of hell, being under the ground, in an endless cavern. Yet, no, there is a calm, though an expectant calm. A calm that will not remain, but revels in itself, for the moment.
It's autumn, you see. And fully autumn, at that. There has been rather a lot of dreich rain, marring the boundary between precipitation and cloud cover that always feels like fall. The leaves lay limp and dead on the pathways, ready to be swept or blown away, barely a hint of their previous majesty in the sun. The bridges along the Fortj barely there, hidden in the mist of both time and space. Where is the ocean? The land? And what of the tops of that spire, those diamonds of rust and ochre?
I do love this time of year.
And after my musical joy tonight, i almost feel like a child-- long car journeys through mist and light rain, enjoying coffee and coke (of the cola variety) as I stay awake, listening to NPR, laughing and reflecting on lyrical content.
I could be anywhere--almost or in actuality. Seattle? Anchorage? Scotland? Ohio?
Maybe.
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