Harvest Moon

I’m ripping my father’s copy of Neil Young’s Harvest Moon, another of those gems from my childhood. There’s something about this album that sneaks up on me every time I hear it and grants visions of dirt roads and the Canadian prairies. I really should make an effort to listen to Neil Young more often, and I certainly want to pick up his newest album, as my silly disciple, Wanda, says it’s great.

Music is a great communication of spirit. There is no art form that approaches it for me. While I love written words, there is something even more divine about music. It refreshes like holy water, and yet I can never quench my thirst for it. I have no doubt that music will always be a huge part of my life. It’s flowing in my blood and sown in my soul.

I must soon assemble a list of some of the albums I wish to aquire. It would be extremely difficult to make a true account, as there are hundreds I would love to have, but I will still make an effort.

When I returned home from work I did some more reading in Year’s Best Fantasy. It’s a much better collection than I had at first anticipated. “Golden Bell, Seven and the Marquis of Zeng” by Richard Parks is the latest story to stand out for me. It was an interesting love story set in a fantasy Orient that was done deftly and sidestepped cliche.

I have a large photograph of Peggy’s Cove above me on the wall. I just glanced up at it and remembered visiting it too many days ago with Ashley. I long to return there to the crashing waves and gentle rocks. I can only imagine how beautiful it was before the tourist taint drained some of that natual awe it inspires.

So, that photo reminds me that I have four rolls of film which I must have developed so that I may have some visions not only of my own mind to preserve the memory of our second breath of bliss. I will take them to one of the photoshops in the mall when I return to my city-cave.

[Music: Matthew Sweet – Staring At The Sun]

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