Heavenly Day

For the past five odd years, Patty Griffin has been a solid soundtrack to my life. My dearest Rosie introduced me to her and while I neglected the beautifully burnt CD in some random holder for much too long, I finally got my butt into gear and fell in love.

The truly impressive part is that as this amazing artist has morphed through her career, her songs continue to resonate with me, like a good lover ebbs and flows with you. Take "Heavenly Day" for example. I couldn't help but envision Alex in my arms as we danced, the song lilting through my kitchen at first listen.

I wanted to sit down tonight and write something beautiful. At every appropriate and unexpected moment, Alex reminds me that I love to write; in fact, that maybe writing is something deeply ingrained within me that I should really just quit denying. Or at very least, honor.

Like me returning by ferry tonight from a walk up to the cliffs of Pol Ruan, wild flowers tied in a small bouquet, and she sweetly asks me from behind the bar if I've been writing tonight. There is a pause in my response where I smile from her love, and then hold up my newly acquired copy of Lion Boy and smile at my reading-children's-literature-as-research style of an evening.

I'm not the first artist to ever have a muse. I'm not the last. But I am very lucky.