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