Me and my guitar

These lyrics came to me in a bus stop on a rainy day when the bus driver pretended to ignore me waving.

I began writing songs at age eleven- my dad had just died in a horrible farm accident a few days after my birthday. Key word = accident, and as I grew, I found that stringing words and chords together helped express many of the messy emotions and scars that an illogical trauma leaves in its wake. While I wouldn't wish the trauma on my worst enemy (or the bus driver), I do hope others find a constant source of solace in their life like I've found in music. Just remember, as long as there's a guitar in the room, there's music to sing along to.

I wrote these words thinking about Deborah, who hitchhiked around the United States at age sixteen, studying philosophy, women's rights and sociology in the most practical of classrooms: human interaction. This song is dedicated to Sarah, her daughter: I miss your mother, too. Her words, her spirit, and her intelligence gave me courage to take hold of my days. 

Many of the references shadow the climbers, mountaineers and musicians surrounding me in Scotland, all determined to scale the pinnacle of their inner vision. Several also refer to the harsh, vast environment of the Great Plains of North America and the stream-of-consciousness fatigue induced both by travel and the search for inner equilibrium.