Got up early this morning. It’s Saturday. A day off. My body is adjusting to the schedule of a new full-time job, to buttering the margins of morning with music and poetry.
This morning’s dreams were full of travel: a taxi cab, a stormy highway, a hotel. I'm in transition.
I picked up my guitar and found that a line from a song I’ve been working on wasn’t quite right. I’m seeing things in a new light. The morning light.
Dug up dictionaries, pen and journal. Pushed deeper into the day, willing my hand across a white page—that wintry highway in my dreams.
This song will outlive the storm.This song will travel.