Riding in a crowded-though-comfortably-large van, I watched the world turn colors all the way to Utica, NY. The reds, the yellows, browns and in-betweens are beautiful but indicate also death's impending, though temporary, triumph over the landscape. I love it though. Autumn, that is. I like to think of it as nature's big finale. Its last hurrah. It's an easy season to appreciate.
The trip was five hours each way, a fairly straight shot on the major highways. No one forgot to bring CDs, books, iPods, cell phones, laptops, whathaveyou. No one needed them either.
Initially, due to its irrectangular shape, my guitar wouldn't fit in the back with the luggage, so for 15 minutes it served as an inadequate footrest. Then a laprest. And at that point it seemed silly to not pull it out and play a tune or two. Which turned to more, which turned to the whole trip, pausing only for coffee and discussion that required two hands.
It was beautiful. Forget the fact that some of the voices were old and scratchy. Forget also the fact that the harmonies weren't always in tune. Finally, forget the fact that I snapped my B-string midway through Rocky Raccoon and finished with five (before replacing the whole lot with an extra set I was sure I didn't pack). It was the sort of trip I'd be tempted to write off to my often-wandering imagination were it not for my still tattered hands.
It's hard to pinpoint exactly what I'm talking about, or why I'm even taking about it, but trust me when I say it was special. I suppose that above all else, it was nice to remember that life matters most when it doesn't. That happiness isn't conditional and shouldn't be fleeting.
I mean, so long as you can lift your chin and then your voice, your spirits are sure to follow.
