We climbed a mountain to cross a river.
The woodpecker hammers, the lynx gambols and the trees waltz. Morty perks his ears, curious. The wonder is in the stillness, its Big magic, one of the mountains terrific tricks. It’s a good ol’ get-a-way, 6000ft. up, skimming the clouds, a place where the new songs can gasp their first breath. We all lean in to the summits voodoo attempting to draw closer to the beat, inviting the elevation to inspire and spin us into its high web. Recording songs is a countdown and a risk, a joy and a gamble, especially when tracking live. Intensity and levity share a cot, blood pumps, eyes signal, it’s a focus and fly. The oil lamp barely chatters on the patio as the tunes inside the house leak through the walls decorating the dark pines. Art is nothing more than the construction of an offering, the building of something intended to delight the senses of others. We can’t wait to share with y’all soon that which only the trees have heard.
We’re half way across the river. Thank you to everyone, you are our paddles.
RW & Moonsville