A meditation on the passage of a lifetime, witnessing each other, and hearing our own internal witness.
Written on the Cornell Arts Quad:
I’m sitting on a bench dedicated in 1936, after having walked past one from 1892, walking up Cascadilla Gorge like I did when I was 17, with my daughter who’s 13 - but not like I did then, because my legs are wearier and my heart flutters a bit, which makes me think of my dad’s heart, and how he died when I was 13, like she is today, although it’ll be September 5 when she’s the same age as I was then - soon but not yet, not yet - and she is playing tuba in summer band like I did, and as we strolled around killing time we saw students, serious and stylized, and she saw them as her future and I saw them as my past.
coming and going along these straight paths and the crooked unwindings that none of 'em last the baggage is heavy the burden is high i'm walking with you side by side i watched you learning i saw you grow but if i'd not been there i still would know caught in the action as it goes by i am your witness side by side can't be distracted never unclear won't be unsettled by pain or by fear even in darkness a step at a time always here with you side by side and in the end when the burden is light when bright day is passing to dark, sacred night the entry is waiting no telling why i'll walk here with you side by side side by side side by side side by side
tjw: guitar, vocals