like hymns of low sunlight
sinking through the closing
of a forest.
Behind the inscriptions,
The vines cling to the country air,
Beyond the horizon,
Without witness, a birds song.
Behind every interpretation to feather the darkness
Remains always, a portrait, longing
Traveling the roads of spain over the past week On Tour has been a beautiful exchange of energy. the folding remainS of spring have awoken the Country roads with migrating cotton seeds, Pigmants of Ochre and crimson POPPY-HEADS, DAZZLING the dry heaT. Spain you have Installed us with a breath of life. We cant wait to share our music with you again in the Near future!
An abandoned bird lays upon his chest - a painting of oiled shadows and burnished solidarity. The portrait of strength surrenders to a private pain. I pay head to the quiet transformation as it is folded away into the diminishing light.
A field of flowers
Disappearing into darkness
The scent of uprooted earth and pine
Becoming the horizon
THE SWEET DEW OF HONEYSUCKLE
ESCAPES THROUGH THE PASSAGES OF COURTYARDS
SCALES WITH IVY AND TEMPERED WITH ICE.
BEYOND THE YIELDING DANCES OF BLACKBIRDS
THAT PARADE THE ROUNDED WALLS, WE CAN SEE
THE CHURCH BELLS SWING THROUGH THE OPAQUE STAR
OF PALESTINE-ROSE GLASS.
IRON NOTES LIFT LIKE SCENTS DRAWN OUT FROM THE RAIN ABOVE
THE QUIET TOWN AND TRAVELLING CLOUDS.
All is one, one breath. With the magnitude of what defies time and place. A relationship unscripted, that moves without separation, just as the dark pine leans into the wind, into the voice of centuries. To hand yourself over to the promise of exchange; the act of giving and receiving; a dialogue that became an equilibrium in a time before beginning and end.