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.