Just Another Place
I guess my odyssey began on a front porch in Montana many miles ago, listening to Uncle Bill's old Zenith. It was here I first heard the siren's song: country, blues and opera on Saturday, all mixed up with the whine of the big rigs on the four lane headed to Billings, and the moan of the Burlington Northern on the rail going west. It all conspired to lure me onto the lost highway, which I was amazed to find ran right in front of our house. I take a look across my back fence now on down the khaki main street of my dusty old one bar town and I notice the past has become a very distant country, and old loves are just another place you've been.
October 2002 |
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