"At the Water's Edge" (August 2009)

The wet and cool spring is quickly retreating into the dim mists of memory, as the more typical summer heat and humidity tighten their grip. Rainbursts are surfing the fickle skycurrents, in some areas repeatedly beating the berries and corn into ripe submission with downpours, while others like ours start to show the parching effects of none at all.

I always appreciate water - its gifts and its necessity. But especially so in summer, when so much rides on whether one gets too much, not enough or just the right amount. As I write this, our first good soaking rain in a couple of weeks just let up. It's not enough, but I'm thankful for any.

I do spend a lot of time contemplating water though, especially flowing from these hills out into the Chesapeake, or as we have recently on the shore out at Chincoteague Island. It's a potent force in those copious quantities, especially when driven by storms. It's also a crazy molecule, two hydrogens and one oxygen atom together that have these really bizarre properties that seem unnatural compared to similar molecules. And it's that very absurdity that makes so many things possible in our water-dominated world.

I was out to visit my friend Keith Pitzer out in the highlands of West Virginia a couple weeks ago, crossing his beloved Cheat River canyon last before riding the steep gravel road to their mountaintop. He's been battling cancer for a year now and it's been a real struggle. We've always wanted to do some writing together, and it seemed a good excuse for a visit as well as good therapy.

Oddly enough, he'd started this beautiful piece called "Walk Along the Shore", and we worked on that for awhile and it shined up really nice. It's turning out to be a fitting testimony to the lasting power of natural forces and the transience of our individual time here, and an appreciation for the beauty inherent in that journey.

I remember a ranger talk many years ago about looking for life on the boundaries - night and day, forest and field, water and land. While at the time he was talking about the big mammals of that Grand Teton ecosystem, I have found it to be true about life too. The precious moments seem to be on the daring and misty interface between light and shadow, music and silence, life and death, water and land. Sometimes they catch you unexpected, and once in awhile you know pretty specifically what you seek.

I look forward to sharing both the song and that journey with you. Drop my friend Keith a line, or better yet come see us in Charleston WV on the 23rd. His fingers are flying these days, and no doubt there will be great joy in making music with he and Joan, especially in the cause of saving our beloved Appalachian mountains from the giant draglines mauling swaths of southern West Virginia. It would be great to see you, and to share the music and the silence, the light and the shadow, in person.