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Song to the Night - Story
I was thinking that evening about friends I had lost and I was wondering where they were now. I was feeling the blessing of life while I looked out at the black silhouettes of the Douglas Fir trees cut out against the horizon. I saw the evening sky emblazoned in roaring flames and it occurred to me that this had never happened before. That the sky tonight is unlike any other that has ever been. Each moment in life is one-of-a-kind. Each is painted with a new brush on new canvas.
I sat there, looking out in stillness and wonder, and this song sort of spilled out onto the page and poured out from the guitar like a words you might steal from a dream.
Then I thought about all the little kids asking “why” all the time, and it made me want to ask why too. Somehow when we grow older, we still say why, but we come to accept mechanical answers of “how” things are in response to childlike wonder about “why” they are. And I thought those little kids are right to keep asking. We still haven’t touched their original question. We can explain, to a degree, how the sky expresses blueness, but we still haven’t answered “why is the sky blue”. For all the wise narratives that material science pulls like threads out of the fabric of the Universe, places under microscopes, and re-imagines in eloquent equations, we’re still stuck with this: the world outside us is built on a foundation of pure magic that is continually exploding with wonder. And it’s glorious.
Then I thought, “what remains after we’re gone?” And I thought, “I don’t want any towers to Babel. I don’t have any lust for Ozymandias' statue. Greatness is a moment, washed away into the oceans of eternity.”
So I thought, “if I could take these fragmented pieces of my life and turn them into pieces of art- for arts sake only- then that would be good.”
The sky is full of fire. I want to wrap it around guitar strings and bottle it up so I’ll always remember, but it’s slippery. It keeps escaping. I want to know what it means. I think, “something so beautiful has to mean something.” Embers flare in mango, tangerine, watermelon, crimson. The dusk of the afterglow is dusty like tree bark; a fistful of earth. The colors grow deeper and darker as the second hand ticks. It doesn’t say a word. It doesn’t justify itself. It burns for beauty’s sake alone. It burns to lead us, wrapped in child-like wonder, into the stillness of night.
Ian McFeron’s writing has been compared to Bob Dylan, John Lennon and Ryan Adams. Over the course of a decade-long
independent music career, he has attracted media attention stretching across the Atlantic. He currently tours in support of his 7th album Time Will Take You, recorded in Nashville with members of Ryan Adams band The Cardinals as well as Patty Griffin and John Hiatt’s touring bands....more
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