There's a light in the window.
We take a walk.
And she tells me about a sickness and a peg tube and months of thirty-five radiations.
And she tells me about his visits. How he would ask, 'How is your spiritual life?'
There are lights everywhere.
'You ask me that now?'
And he pauses. Listens.
'You should have asked me before when I was healthy. That's when my spiritual life could have been questionable. Now it's me and God (no matter what you call something greater than you because you couldn't handle all this.)
And this is the origin of music. The first cry was a cry. That's why I think North Mississippi Hill Country Blues started it. And it doesn't matter who started it.
(though I still know that there were and still are cries around the world)
Today I am grateful again for my powerlessness, for the quiet I can feel here. For how consuming a music can be when listened to like this.
Woodstomp took a request.
Kay loves the music, and if I ever were to dedicate a work it would be to her but then that makes me conceited so I'll just say that Kay of this place was the first person who said, "You have a good eye."
It doesn't matter if it was true. It doesn't matter if it matters anymore.
What it did was give me the freedom to attempt to repay someone who I could never repay.
There are at least angels who walk on this earth. To which I figure Kay would reply, "Oh, Shea. Hush. Let me change your sheets."