Notes, while driving with Miles
(random riffs recorded on the road)
Rain falls, steady, and I say so what.
Wipers try in vain to keep the beat,
but this combo is too tight.
The bass just layin’ it down,
horn and sax sparring.
There’s a fog rolling through the hills,
tellin’ the rain
hold the ice, this is just too cool.
Bare branches, with pines the only green
in a landscape of white on brown.
A lone birch like a ghost that knows,
as blue as this feels,
there will be no blue sky.
And that so what refrain slips in
Narrow roads now,
winding through wet grass
lined with granite and marble.
A memorial among memorials,
some barely legible.
Everything here is blue,
except the pines, white now with big, heavy flakes.
Country roads skirt the mountains,
snow now a powder, hanging in the air like a fog.
Roads slicker than the music.
Hands tense on the wheel.
Piano eases through me,
slowly levels out, bringing me back to the lake,
out there somewhere, blue asleep within the white.