Flow gently sweet river, disturb not her dream…

I was listening to music just now – songs played on guitars and mandolines and banjos – and it filled me with something old and familar. Growing up I was surrounded by stringed instruments – mostly guitars (I learned on my father’s beat-up classical)- but there were ukuleles, mandolines, a fiddle, some kind of harped instrument, even a banjo.

The shape of home for me is a mixture of stained glass and bells (collected by my mother), shelves of brown, burgundy and dark blue dusty books, some pinch of San Francisco, a clear blue lake, old cameras, pictures that reak of chemicals created in our garage, Ancient King James’ Bibles and endless music played on records and tape decks – The Beatles, Bob Dylan, Judy Collins, Paul Simon, Crosby, Stills & Nash, Neil Young, Tracy Chapman, The Cheiftains, Winwood, Clapton, Vivaldi, Bach, Mozart, a gospel song here and there, and the sound of my mother’s voice, and my father’s harmony, and the all those stringed instruments tied together in some equisite memory box I’ll never find again – not fully.

Flow gently sweet river, disturb not her dreams…….

Listening to these two songs just now…

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