Literally up the street from my widowers apartment, is the hardware store I was parking at, on a Saturday in 2000, when I heard “Red Dirt Girl” on the radio. The program was “Prairie Home Companion”.
I’d gone to get something needed for a long sold house, filled with children and dogs and my sweetheart. Before the scars of the inevitable.
Music, like all Art, can be intensely resonant. So 25 years later, an old man, waking from an after dinner nap, in the quiet midnight, finds solace in memory. And ice cream.
Brooke's Blog 