#7: Touch and Go

The remains of last years' leaves scrunched under my feet as I followed the others. Up hill, down hill, along a ridge, up and down again. In one ear a MP3 player provided a soundtrack; the other remained open for the wood-noise to accompany it.

I saw the big brown feather first. A hawk's, perhaps. Or a wild turkey. Both seemed equally likely here in the back of beyond.

A few paces on, and a black feather waved from underneath a fern. And shortly on, a tiny, gray and white down feather, from some small bird.

By the end of the walk I had collected five feathers, including another, smaller black one, and the blue and black stripes of a blue jay. I felt honored to have found so many gifts on my walk, and--bonus--I had managed not to overdo it this week, as well as managing to avoid tripping over things (always my weak point, it seems like out there with the tree roots and rocks sticking up every turn.)

I counted this as a good day.

This particular area had seen a fire in the past year or two, so a lot of the stuff growing up top was gone. But things were beginning to green up once again. In the mean while, enjoy the view.

Shortoff Mountain, from Linville Gorge.

After I got home this afternoon, I found four more feathers in various parts of the yard. Evidently it is moulting season. Either that, or the wee ones really, really like me. (or maybe a little of both)

Harkening back to the "music I may of heard, and didn't remember I had forgot till I had stumbled upon it again" is this one, rediscovered about a week ago. Oddly, the jar to my memory came in the form of the simulated horn at the beginning, rather than the song itself, or the words. I found myself amused at some of the comments on Mr. Lake's voice. Well, let's see. He's pushing 40 at this point, has gained some weight, and has pretty much smoked his whole life.



Let's hear how your voice would turn out under similar conditions. You'd better hope you sound half as good.

And then, for some of us whippersnappers, this is the voice we are familiar with most, Lucky Man aside, this, to some of us, was Greg Lake.

I like to think rather than worrying about the change in voice, rather the music evolved to suit it--that bluesy, almost soulful sound (1992's Black Moon demonstrates this even more so)

They set aside what wasn't working, and evolved.

Sometimes change is good.

Aye,
Kraneia