Long way home

A journal entry on the train home.


I’m watching the towns pass by me as the train travels towards home. My life is like a wheel; with people, places and things entering and exiting without so much as a moment’s notice. It’s such a fleeting thing, my life; hard to grasp, but even harder to hang onto. The sun is setting outside the train window, hazy and somehow tired, like me. Cars blaze by in the train’s same direction on the Mass Pike traveling at speeds that are well over the legal limit; maybe soon the drivers will be home. Does it really matter? The train is very bumpy tonight; all my letters are converging on one another like one big sloppy bowl of alphabet soup. West Newton now, not even close. In my mind, my eyes are closed and I hear nothing save for the synthesized violins.
I’m listening to "Arc" (1993) by Jimmy Haslip, bass player for the Yellowjackets. The song is called “Hannah’s House”, an ethereal instrumental simple in its chord structure but complex in its overall texture, much like my youngest daughter, Hannah. The music floats me from stop to stop as I listen and write. It’s such a sad song, so unlike my Hannah, but beautiful in the same sort of way, if that’s possible. I love Haslip and have for many years. A friend of mine once did a studio session with him and told me what I already knew; he’s a real nice guy. The way he plays confirms that. Other outstanding tracks on the CD are Outland and Old Town.
The skyline off to my left is now royal purple with a thin layer of orange creamsicle spreading out towards the bottom. My head is tired but my heart is still listening. Sometimes the music I listen to affects me in surprising ways. The end of another weekend has come and I’ll go to bed after posting this—only words, feelings and the movement of my pen across the page tonight. The train pulls in for its final stop; a well-deserved night’s sleep is finally within reach.


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