I
walk often on the little winding country road that I live on. I call
it the “The Little Dirt Road” because it was a dirt and gravel
road before it was paved about fifteen years ago. I walked and rode
my bicycle on it when I was a boy, threw rocks in the creek from the
one lane iron bridge, and shuffled through the Fall leaves as country
kids often do. I wrote the song “Little Dirt Road” after seeing
an old broken down Beech tree with lover's names carved on it. I
have taken pictures, recorded animal sounds, and even shot part of my
“Wandering Soulmate” and “Lover's Lullaby” videos on that
road. A lot of my creative inspiration comes from there and the
woodlands that I stroll through on my forty acres. I get into
nostalgic/melancholic moods occasionally (or sometimes a lot), when I
go walking, as do most of us with a sensitive poetic heart.
It
seems that poets, songwriters, and creative artists of all types, are
joined at the heart. They recognize and find each other easily. It
is so wonderful to have others to share with, Kindred Spirits who
speak heart to heart through their works of art. Sometimes there
is a deep connection at first meeting, and you feel like you have
found a lost friend from long ago.
Any
of you who follow my blogs, or listen to my songs, or watch my videos
will probably notice immediately that my mood in a lot of the things
I have written is from a retrospective viewpoint. As the sun is
setting on my harvest fields, I cast long shadows upon them, while
the morning sun on some of my younger Kindred Spirit friends casts a
long shadow on their newly sprouted fields. But there is a part of
me that is still young (my spirit). I have retained much of my
boyhood curiosity and imagination throughout my life, and even into
my senior years. I know in my mind (and sometimes when my body
speaks to me) that I might not have too many more years left. So you
will see a tussle between the two in my songs and writings, and even
in my pictures of old barns, houses, and the like.
My
young spirit wants to associate with the youthful, those that still
have hopes and dreams and love with intensity. I can feel the hopes
and dreams, the disappointments and suffering that is expressed
through their art. My long shadow crosses youthful shadows on the
fields of life. I take comfort in encouraging them to follow what
they know is true in their heart, and I find purpose in that, even
though I know that I can no longer participate.
We
are different in our talents and means of expression, but we are all
trying to say the same things; express our struggles with life and
death, our compassion for one another, lover's dreams, heartbreaks,
and broken promises … It does us a lot of good just to be able to
express what we feel to others, and to have them understand. We
never outgrow our need for love and understanding! I choose this
life of hopes and dreams for as long as I can, and will probably
never follow others who are “acting my age”.
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