I still have fond mem­o­ries of the fall. It’s when the light is at it’s most neu­tral, not warmed by the sum­mer sun or cooled by it’s reflec­tion on the snow. The time of long show­ers, kit­ties being even more affec­tion­ate, and girls always find­ing the right spot to nes­tle under your neck.

On par­tic­u­larly bright, chilly days, with all the leaves a flat lemon-yellow, I can hardly take it all in.

cat in sunbeam

We are on this planet to move our cats directly in the path of a sun­beam every 15 minutes.

The sun­beams form a celes­tial cal­en­dar across my floor, slowly creep­ing along as they threaten to warp the wood in my instru­ments, remind­ing me that I haven’t spent a win­ter in this room yet. I can only hope the mem­o­ries will be bet­ter this time around.

These days, I still dream of a nylon-stringed beauty, with warm tones and crisp bass close to the sad­dle. I won­der what she’ll feel like under my fin­gers, mahogany or rose­wood, satin or glossy. It’s a dream that never seems far away cause I know it’ll hap­pen some day, so I try to cher­ish the anticipation.

toy plane

 

I’ve been feel­ing par­tic­u­larly nos­tal­gic. When the right song comes on, I’m taken to the time in my life when it was the only thing I played for a week straight. I used to write so much, but lately I hardly have any­thing to say it all. That’s why I’m addicted to the feel­ing of feel­ing, search­ing for inspi­ra­tion, using my dreams to keep me alive.