learning to let go

Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world's great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of the rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs.

I am haunted by waters.

Norman Maclean's writing haunts me, i've read his novella a million time and it still blows a breeze past the tiny pinwheel located in the middle of my chest. the adventure will begin soon.

being able to play music is such a privilege, its always been a labor of love. i hope to hear some of the words under those rocks someday.

-c