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The furniture is in storage, the DC house cleaned and ready for the new tenants, and, load lightened, we are gone to chase the hurtling moons of Barsoom, a new crop of songs landing us as finalists in two of three song contests entered, Susquehanna and Wildflower.
The next wave of entries is ready to mail, but chosen or not we will walk the troubador's path these next few seasons, take to the road in a beat-up RV and let the miles roll by her like the Mississippi against Huck's raft, to walk along the dust roads of Kerrville, to listen and play the campfires of Telluride, of Moab, and of Sisters, to see if the open mic is still going on the stage where Dave met Tracy.
To chase these myths and catch them out, to walk up to the stone and see if Excalibur will yield or at least jiggle a little. To hang a door for a friend yet met, and to see the stars again in the moonless black of the high desert.
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