3.23.24

I’ve got a cause I should surely defend

I hope you will agree

I’ve got a tire I would love to suspend

I’m searching for a tree

And I’m running down the street

But I haven’t found my feet

It’s been a long day, canopied by a heavy gray sky that dumped an early-spring snowstorm on Vermont. The storm has moved on, but as the last light fades, the sky remains gloomy as all get out.

There hasn’t been much in the way of sun lately, but there’s a fair to middling chance it’ll show up over the next few days. This time of year, blue sky is sorely needed, but it’s most often found on the backside of my eyelids.

Blue Skies — from The Choir’s 1990 album, Circle Slide — is a sparse, stripped down song about the need for clarity, for certainty. For that sky blue sky that makes one feel like there’s something — anything — that can help make us brave, get us closer to making dreams come true. For a sense of solid footing as we navigate our way through uncertain times.

The Choir is a band from back in my born-again days. One of those bands I was scolded for listening to because they talked about things like not seeing God in everything. They led with their humanity and imperfect nature and allowed the listener to struggle with the lyrical situations and draw their own conclusions.

I guess that’s why I still appreciate their music. Nothing makes me more nervous than someone who is absolutely certain either way about the unknown. The Choir doesn’t go that way. (Or didn’t. I have no idea what they’re up to or where they’re at with that stuff these days.)

One thing I do know is that when I listen to Blue Skies these days, more than three decades after I first played Circle Slide on my tape deck, I’m less certain about lots of things than I was then. I guess that’s part of growing up. Lots of days, my vision is cloudy, but sometimes things are clearer when I close my eyes.