I worked as close as I could. I cropped as much as I could. I softened it as much as I could because sharp was too sharp and this image finally revealed itself. Bright and bold, yellow and starting to get old.
See what I did there?
No. I can’t write poetry or lyrics. But, every now and then I get a wild hair. I’d like to tell you where I made this picture, but it was somewhere out on the road this summer. I can’t remember when I had a minute to step off the bus and take a look around. It must have been pretty.
Wherever I was.
In a coupla weeks I’ll be in NYC. My singing ladies have organized an event at The Blue Note for my birthday. And all this time I keep saying that I don’t want to travel. That’ll teach me. At least it’s not that far from the farm. Maybe we’ll drive. Funny thing about this is that it isn’t even a big birthday. That’s later in my life. Next year.
So. Off I go. Again.
STORYTELLER 
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