Last nite we sat on our bus backed up tight to the Possum’s in downtown Chattanooga.  George Jones fans loitered outside in the tepid drizzle.  A laptop played distorted Lynard Skynard in the front lounge, the only band agreeable by all occupants I’m sure. 

A stack of 8 pizzas in greasy cardboard boxes teetered on the tiny table.  I retired to my bunk with a green apple and some almond butter, guessing my mood to watch either the Bob Dylan biopic I’m Not There, or my new Cassavetes documentary was probably out of step with my fellow travelers. 

I fell asleep soon.  And dreamed of mama.  She was getting ready to go to the beach and me and daddy were helping her.  She asked me for a scarf to wear around her neck in case the wind was cool.  I stood in my dressing room and mulled over a hundred options…vintage and silk and lovely, or soft and knitted with more weight for warmth….I couldn’t decide.

The other day I sat in indecision on the swing in my backyard in Nashville…one of the few moments I’ve been home this month and not on a giant vibrating bus wishing like I hell I could pee in a jug.  A giant ole tree that’s been struck by lightening 5 times obscures me from the street and tucks me into a lush corner….a hidden newly green garden in the city. 

I was distraught, heavy, teary….I can’t even remember why.  I heard something sudden and powerful like a helicopter come up against the back of my head.  The flapping made a strong wind so close my freshly washed hair parted and blew from the back of my neck and up around the sides of my face.  It startled me.  I turned my head and saw a giant red breasted robin light on the fence a few feet away.  She looked me up and down and all around.   She’s huge and shiny and healthy.   I’ve seen her everyday since.