Losing Satellites

When the last star is gone
It’s darkest before the dawn
And I’m calling
Baby hold on.

I dreamed of a satellite
One that was set right
To relay
All your little heartbeats.

From out in the Pleiades
Down to my bended knee
Little one
I’m so all alone

chorus
And in the cold light of day
As the fog burns away
You fade

You hung a dress on the line
Just before the last time
When the wind blows
I see you slow dance

Why is it the worst of me
Seems to get the best of me
Everytime
I put out my hand

chorus

Little bits of history
Little bits of you and me
Burning
Fire in the sky
the last light of day
Fade

Except that’s not the middle of nowhere. That’s Elk Mountain. I rode roundup and ran fence lines and cut miles and miles of hay at the foot of that mountain for five years when I worked on the Double 8 Ranch. Climbed to the top a time or two. And I can tell from the Conoco sign that they are one exit down from Carbon County Road 402, which is mentioned in the first verse of “Could Be You,” off the album Headwinded, upon which one of the fellows in the bands doing the meet-up (Phil Cook of Megafaun; they were meeting War on Drugs) played harmonica.

It is what it is. And what it is, is groovy.

I miss that mountain. Going to visit it (and the dear friends at the foot of it) this summer.

Gonna be in Morris, Minnesota, Friday night, telling stories and making music with the Long Beds.

We’ll have special guest Andy Dee with us. He will scorch up his lap steel.

Was looking back at the galleries below, and man, we do have some fun. The writing comes first, but so glad I finally learned that D chord. Feels good to chonk along.

Playing outside at Phoenix Park.

Hot and sweaty at the Mousetrap.

At the State Theater.

And a re-interpretation.