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

After a couple of months of heavier touring I still have a few of those boxes to sort.  I thought it might be fun to show you a photo of an item I just dug out, and how it represents (in this case, literally) a story.

This was the gift (when someone hands me something that says “International,” it’s a pretty good bet they’ve read Truck):

And here was the note accompanying (click to expand).

The references to asphalt mileage and “never been shifted into third after 1943″ are terrific.

The thoughtfulness I encounter so regularly is the greatest gift of all.  Please consider this my thank-you in general.  I will say that gratitude notwithstanding, one has only so much shelf and floorspace (don’t get me started on the pole barn!), so at some point there may need to be a charity auction, but I’d never do that without announcing it first.  The snickerdoodles are long gone, by the way.