The Moon Of The Wild Rose

In the lost universe, the lives of the people followed the seasons.

There was the Moon of making fat,

The Moon of the blooming lillies,

The Moon of the dying grass,

The Moon of the falling leaves,

The Moon of drifting snow,

The Moon of popping trees,

The Moon of strong cold,

The Moon of the buffalo calves,

The Moon when the geese lay eggs,

And the Moon of the Wild Rose...

Put Them Ghosts To Sleep

I live with ghosts. For the most part in relative harmony. But that comes with age...

This is a song I wrote for my Uncle John. I was working on it when he passed away, and finished it that evening. His passing represented the passing of an era for me. The bear traps and branding irons hanging on the walls of his barn were tools that he had actually used. There was harness and saddles and cowboy gear and mining equipment in there that were museum quality, but watch out for them old boxes of dynamite...

His hunter's eyes were always scanning the hillsides for movement. The wrinkles were from squinting against the sun, and from laughter. There was always an old dog around, and a couple of horses, even if he didn't ride them anymore...

We never did go on that last hunting trip. Sometimes promises get broken. I have that old 30/30 now, but I haven't decided if I'm ever going to use it . There are still a few of the old timers left around here, but there era has passed and they know it.

And the ghosts-- well, they need their sleep...