Well, I was getting my dinner ready when suddenly there was a knock on the door. It was one of those two Shizuoka Duo guys. The one that’s a bit high-strung. (You get used to it. At least I have.)
The first thing he says—the only thing he says—is, “I wanna sing.”
“Well, then, sing,” I say.
I’m at the genkan, and he’s still out on the front porch.
“I mean,” he says, “I wanna sing for Persimmon Dreams.”
I finally ascertained what he had in mind, so I invited him in, and made him a glass of yuzu tea. Then I went upstairs to look for the Persimmon Dreams recording studio. I found it, pretty quickly, in the pocket of my hiking jacket.
I got everything set up for him downstairs. He tuned up his ukulele. I pressed the record button.
And then he says, “Did you go for a walk today?”
“No,” I say. “Kind of cold out.”
“That’s why you go for a walk.”
“Is this one of those prose pieces?” I ask.
“We’ll go for a walk after I do this,” he says.
“Are you ready?” I get ready to re-start “the equipment.”
“Sure,” he said.
And this is what he sang. I leave it here as a record of my day.
She . . . said to me
We . . . don’t need to be
And I . . . could only sit
And cry.
She . . . said to me
I . . . am going to leave
And I . . . could only sit
And cry.
Lean into December light / Feel the warmth before the night
Lean into December light / Watch the ravens taking flight
She . . . left me there
I . . . knew not where
And I . . . could only close
My eyes.
I looked within
My heart . . . so paper thin
And I . . . could only see
All awry.
Lean into December light / Feel the warmth before the night
Lean into December light / Watch the ravens taking flight
Watch the ravens taking flight
Watch the ravens taking flight
DECEMBER LIGHT
“Let’s go for a walk,” I said, when we were done.
