gold
he drove along listening to james taylor sing his new version of an old glen campbell song and watched october in connecticut fly by the route 2 skyline in a blur of golden leaves and crisp blue skies. with the window down and the breeze hitting his exposed arm he lowered his sunglasses in order to take in the purity of the colors that surrounded him even though the horizontal rays of the sun forced him to look sideways at the view.
one of the concurrently lovely and devastating side effects of his emotional condition was that the happiness and melancholy of nostalgia often hit him simultaneously between the eyes and the in the heart and the lyric of an obscure song could send him headlong into 1975 or 81 or the day before yesterday. even though his memories inhabit all four seasons of his past it is as though they seem to congregate in the fall making orange his favorite color.
with the leaves of the seventies crunching under the boots of today he wandered though his mind considering the blessing of kids family friends and of course her. yesterday’s rake joined forces with today’s blower and earbuds replaced singing to himself and the song that bridged then to now and despair to hope rose up as the leaves fell down and he could not shake the thought of what her gold hair and blue eyes must have looked like thirty years ago.
I hear you singing in the wire.
I can hear you thru the whine.
And the Wichita Lineman, is still on the line.
And I need you more than want you.
And I want you for all time.
one of the concurrently lovely and devastating side effects of his emotional condition was that the happiness and melancholy of nostalgia often hit him simultaneously between the eyes and the in the heart and the lyric of an obscure song could send him headlong into 1975 or 81 or the day before yesterday. even though his memories inhabit all four seasons of his past it is as though they seem to congregate in the fall making orange his favorite color.
with the leaves of the seventies crunching under the boots of today he wandered though his mind considering the blessing of kids family friends and of course her. yesterday’s rake joined forces with today’s blower and earbuds replaced singing to himself and the song that bridged then to now and despair to hope rose up as the leaves fell down and he could not shake the thought of what her gold hair and blue eyes must have looked like thirty years ago.
I hear you singing in the wire.
I can hear you thru the whine.
And the Wichita Lineman, is still on the line.
And I need you more than want you.
And I want you for all time.
posted by Hotwire at 3:36 PM
5 Comments:
Nice, I guess we all drift backwards sometimes.
Yes, drifting back, and nothing can trigger that better than music, in my experience anyway. Happy to have disscovered your blog.
This is lovely.
Thank you for this insider's view
For me, James Taylor is THE bridge to the 70s. I can't listen to him without feeling melancholy.
I am thinking about what it means to be needed more than wanted yet wanted for all time. Provocative. Thanks.
I was listening to Taylor yesterday. Fall seems like his season.
Your writing always makes me ache for the past, and want to tunnel through time on the lyrics of a song, or on the back of a memory. I love how you tied in fall's colors with her hair and eyes. Those free associations of yours always work for me.
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