Thoughts

. . . and all those memories from the countless times in Asheville blend, rolling into each other, each memory rolling like the hills, one after the other, awash in light. hazy afternoon, misty morning.


I'm amazed by Tony Rice singing Shadows. His eyes are challenging the adventurous soul who dares to listen, inviting to come partake of his old wise stories, to come and listen to what he has to tell. There was even a tinge of the old white-bearded Irishman in his tremolo. Something wild . . . 


. . . day by day, train by train, yard after yard in Charleston, rails passing under the Interstate, the undersides of which being the last retreat of the wino and wretched-broke alcoholic, each day the gospel of train-hopping and hobo-ing soaking into my roots and growing my desire to sever them. Those train brakes sweetly screech their siren song to me. . . 




If All Those Trains Were Still Around (I'd Be An 'Ol Hobo) - Randy Kohrs
Through The Window Of A Train - Blue Highway