On the last day of March, I was holed up in a cabin outside of Jacksonville, Oregon. I went there to write songs and hang out with some friends. I woke up at two in the morning to the silence of snow falling. The snowflakes floated like cherry blossoms, falling gently out of a moonlit sky, dusting the fields, pastures and hills. I stood outside for the next hour, struck by the beauty and the hushed quiet of the snow.
I had been trying to finish a song that I started last September while driving home from the Sisters Folk Festival. It was a song that I was writing for my daughter, K.C. Over the years, I had started writing several songs for her, but they never seemed to capture all that I wanted to say, so I would never finish them. I guess this one doesn’t capture it all either, but there was something about the unexpected gift of that white night that gave me the words I was waiting for. It reminded me, though patience does not come easily for me, that sometimes I need to unclench and wait for things to unfold in their own way.
Here are the words to the song I finished that night:
I cannot promise you, you’ll catch a fish when you go fishing
You’ll get your wish when you go wishing, I wish I could
I cannot promise you, your friends will all be true ones
Or the skies will all be blue ones, if I could
I would hold you and protect you from the cold of winter’s snows
And I would shed the raindrops from you, but without them nothing grows
I cannot promise you, that you will always reach the top
That you won’t tire and have to stop along the way
And I can’t promise you, that the winds will blow behind you
Or that love’s soft touch will find you, but that’s okay
Cause when you’re worn and cracked and weary and you feel you can’t go on
That’s when the light comes pouring through you and the night gives way to dawn
I haven’t always done the right things, or found the words to heal the wounds and hurts
But like the ones who’ve come before us, we will lean into the rain
And watch the storm move past the mountains
And the sun come out again
But I can promise you, that you can fly and not look down
And you can love with just the sound of a beating heart
And I can promise you, you’ll be the last breath on my lips
The touch on my fingertips when day turns dark
There’s a part of me inside you that I hope one day you’ll find
And when you do I hope you’ll greet it, let it in and treat it kind
And then you’ll know
That the hardest part of loving you is letting go
I cannot promise you, you’ll catch a fish when you go fishing
You’ll get your wish when you go wishing
I wish I could
I wish I could
April’s gigs started on Saturday, April 3rd, at the Centre Stage in Brookings, Oregon, a wonderful, warm, intimate listening room. There was a small but enthusiastic crowd in attendance to watch Perry Devine, Larry Diehl and me exchange our songs. Many thanks to my friends Perry and Larry for the beautiful night of music-making and thanks to Perry and Lucille for putting Larry and me up at their lovely cedar-sided home overlooking the Winchuck River. By the way, Perry will be coming down to the Bay Area and playing with me and another friend, James May, at the First Street Café in Benicia on April 24th.
So here are the remaining gigs for April: Oh and I have three new songs from the cabin in Jacksonville, including the one for my daughter, so come out and hear them.
I hope to see you soon!
Peace and Joy,
Steve
