Each verse (and the bridge) is a scene from the Ithaca, NY area.
I wrote this in January 2005, and have performed it solo many times but it took a while to get it recorded.
a flash of gold a flash of green a flash of something old you thought you never should've seen a flash of alabaster a flash of white, and after that a flash of insight into something gray you'd thought was unclean rolling down the hillside, tired and in no gear the city lights below you, up ahead a deer just crossed the road you missed the sign, but it occurs to you that you are here. you bought your ticket, you paid the price: you made your way here slogging through the slush and ice the sound and motion wake you from sleep, mm but it's the silence that pulls you in deep. come and dance with me, i'm sitting very still come sing your passion to the rooftops and in the mumbled echo you may hear your name there's only one way to find out whether you are here. circling to land the end of the line no connecting flights there's only one way to travel, and that's forward in time. i had a vision, it went like this: a quiet sunbeam and a forest kiss it led me forward, but now it's so far away and when I glimpse it, it only leads to yesterday how can i run in darkness, flying into fear? but if i listen close and stay standing here, will it come to me? it all comes to this, and this is you, and you are here.
tjw: Martin D-28 acoustic guitar, electric guitar, bass ukulele, vocals
photo: John Bringewatt