I rarely ever listen back to my old songs anymore. If I did, I think I'd be struck by their open spaces, in deep contrast to the concrete and steel of my recent works. Even as I've drifted ever toward being far more of a folk musician than a rock musician, the work has become distinctly urban. That's my life now, so it's also my song.
Still, from time to time I visit old places in my words. New England often feels like a dream. As I round the bases in New York for the fifth time, I wonder about my sense of place. I feel a longing for, and alienation from my old home that I can't shake, even as I understand my purpose in the place where I live, and count the many blessings my life here has granted me.
In this song, I float like a ghost outside my old home, looking for a an anchor to a place where I haven't made my life for some time. I think I could have dug a bit deeper into these themes, and I suspect I will someday. Still the lilt and turn are authentic, and I like how this came out.
lyrics
The field is aglow
On the night before the rain
It's a storm that always seems
To come this way
It blows this way
Always once a year
The tracks in the yard
All the way to the door
It's a cold cold night
And I don't live here no more
It's a stranger's home
So please follow me into the field
Look for me out in the storm
Watch as I crack like a limb from a tree
Darling, stand with me waiting for more
It's the door around the back
With the fog in the glass
I'll trace our initials there
And they'll disappear too fast
They'll disappear way too fast
My love, follow me into the field
Look for me out in the storm
Watch as I crack like a limb from a tree
Darling, stand with me waiting for more