We’re extra lucky on this episode, since the voice of my friend Abbey, which is far more beautiful than any of my guttural rumbles, sings a few songs. And, since I know you love him, Mike the Guitar takes the stage as well. In fact, I think we were a band that night. Mike says we’re called The Jipped Reans, but since I was slapping my drumsticks on a dried and weathered moose hip bone found in the forest by a friend on the day we first practiced, I have decided to change the name to Moose Bone.

Regardless, whatever happened the night these songs were recorded wasn’t something you’ve heard before; though maybe if you’re lucky you’ll hear it again…

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After all, moments on stage are just the same as walks through the woods when the clouds are dark and the air is cool, all pieces of a whole with a sum worth more than the limitless opportunities we have to indulge in pleasurable acts that take more than they give.

As one who constantly questions the worth of my creative work, whether it’s ever even close to worth it, I take pride in the moments when others recognize the need for a bearded, mountain poet to speak unstrung thoughts out loud or on a page with a pen. And maybe you can be grateful, even if you weren’t there, that in a small resort town on a rainy night between seasons when no one was around, a beautiful songstress sang, an old guitar twanged, and a wild poet raved.