songs that capture an old life, and finding my own voice.

But think about Marfa, and the blackness that surrounded us, and that fact that our house was 1 1/2 blocks from a literal edge of town,,,, Wildness. And we lived in a house full of books. And bird feathers. And birds, cactus, rose bushes, and barn swallow nests surrounded us. And Sam dragged me out of bed every time he heard the pair of owls hunting at night. They would call to each other accross town, to tell what kinds of prey they found.

We watched the male owl in our backyard tree once, at the very top, with a flashlight. It was otherworldly. He was calling, and then he looked right at me, standing barefoot on pine needles. There was a magic there.

So let it be me being an amateur, singing from the heart, but remembering things like tin trays painted in bluebirds, or jars or creosote by the bath, or a wooden case full of birds nests, or Sam doing laundry the first night I was there, so I would have hot, fresh sheets, just in from NYC to San Antonio where I dreamt of a vast green field, to Alpine, TX, to a Marfa home.

God bless that time.

And those songs.