No pun intended....

This song has stuck with me...

Ear worm alert!

https://youtu.be/H5je_eK0V1w

I'm Sticking With You

Lou Reed

I'm sticking with you

'Cause I'm made out of glue

Anything that you might do

I'm gonna do too

You held up a stage coach in the rain

And I'm doing the same

Saw you're hanging from a tree

And I made believe it was me

I'm sticking with you

'Cause I'm made out of glue

Anything that you might do

I'm gonna do too

Some people go into the stratosphere

Soldiers fighting with the cong

But with you, by my side I can do anything

When we swing, we hang past right and wrong

I'll do anything for you

Anything you want me to

I'll do anything for you

Ooh, I'm sticking with you

Ooh, I'm sticking with you

Ooh, I'm sticking with you

Ooh, I'm sticking with you

Ooh, I'm sticking with you

Ooh, I'm sticking with you

Ooh, I'm sticking with you

Ooh, I'm sticking with you

In the last seven days I have traveled north and south I-71 between Cincinnati and Columbus six times. Early morning, midday, midnight and early evening.

The temperature has been between 50 and 80 with just a trace of rain. Perfect for the farmers to be working the fields. Boy, were they! I am fascinated by tractors and implements. 24 row corn planters are a special treat! I witnessed the process first hand. Spike harrows followed by disc harrows. Then a drag. Some had all three in one attachment. Back and forth 24/7. Huge tractors, some with army tank type treads, some with dual wheel 4 wheel drive, some relics of early days.

Acre after acre, hour after hour after hour. Morning noon and night. Get the job done while you can. Saw a wife delivering lunch and saw the John Deere repair vehicle (kind of a service truck tractor) working on a planter in the rich soiled fields. I couldn't see the farmer but I am sure he was frowning impatiently. Nighttime headlights made them look like dusty invading aliens attacking from afar. I enjoyed seeing the process.

So God Made A Farmer

Paul Harvey

And on the 8th day, God looked down on his planned paradise and said, "I need a caretaker." So God made a farmer.

God said, "I need somebody willing to get up before dawn, milk cows, work all day in the fields, milk cows again, eat supper and then go to town and stay past midnight at a meeting of the school board." So God made a farmer.

"I need somebody with arms strong enough to rustle a calf and yet gentle enough to deliver his own grandchild. Somebody to call hogs, tame cantankerous machinery, come home hungry, have to wait lunch until his wife's done feeding visiting ladies and tell the ladies to be sure and come back real soon -- and mean it." So God made a farmer.

God said, "I need somebody willing to sit up all night with a newborn colt. And watch it die. Then dry his eyes and say, 'Maybe next year.' I need somebody who can shape an ax handle from a persimmon sprout, shoe a horse with a hunk of car tire, who can make harness out of haywire, feed sacks and shoe scraps. And who, planting time and harvest season, will finish his forty-hour week by Tuesday noon, then, pain'n from 'tractor back,' put in another seventy-two hours." So God made a farmer.

God had to have somebody willing to ride the ruts at double speed to get the hay in ahead of the rain clouds and yet stop in mid-field and race to help when he sees the first smoke from a neighbor's place. So God made a farmer.

God said, "I need somebody strong enough to clear trees and heave bails, yet gentle enough to tame lambs and wean pigs and tend the pink-combed pullets, who will stop his mower for an hour to splint the broken leg of a meadow lark. It had to be somebody who'd plow deep and straight and not cut corners. Somebody to seed, weed, feed, breed and rake and disc and plow and plant and tie the fleece and strain the milk and replenish the self-feeder and finish a hard week's work with a five-mile drive to church.

"Somebody who'd bale a family together with the soft strong bonds of sharing, who would laugh and then sigh, and then reply, with smiling eyes, when his son says he wants to spend his life 'doing what dad does.'" So God made a farmer.

Sitting in front of 3 piles of pages. Typed and hand scratched words look like festival litter on a green grass field. Each separated by invisible walls of subject matter. I move a stack in front of me; slowly focusing on the jumbled words, sailing into the scene like an actor preparing for a part. As I rock back and forth, deep into the act, I pray for fresh ideas to appear, a star to lead me into the next act. Good idea swims by. Caught it! Bad idea sinks away. Then nothing, stuck in the scene. Frozen in time. 

Move to the next stack. Repeat process.

This is how I felt last night working on 3 songs at once. Fun and rewarding; the old take a trip without leaving farm feeling. I felt like I had a remote in my hand going from movie to movie. 

Reminded me of this poem by Ralph Garnier Coole, Riding At Night.

Riding at Night

Ralph Garnier Coole 

On and on through the silent night,

 Under the sky with its tranquil light

 Of stars that are smiling and blinking bright—

   Riding...just riding along ...

 Up the hill and over the rise;

 Can't see the trail but my horse is wise;

 He knows where the hidden hill-trail lies;

    Riding...just riding along...

 A flicker of fire from his steel-shod feet,

 As the hoof-beats ring and the rocks repeat—

Easy, boy! Easy! Now keep your feet;

    Riding...just riding along...

 Out of the stillness, faint and small,

 The lean, gray hunters of midnight call,

 And the querulous echoes rise and fall;

    Riding...just riding along...

 The trail of a meteor streaks the sky,

 And drops in the void of the dusk to die,

 And I gaze as I wonder, "Where—and Why?"

    Riding...just riding along...

 The jingle of rein-chains seems to be

 Singing a song of peace to me;

 A song of the range where a man is free...

    Riding...just riding along...

 And the white moon rising above the gap,

 Smiles on the world in its quiet nap,

 Dreaming away in old Nature's lap;

    Riding...just riding along...

 Then the crest of the range is a rose-lit height,

 As the dawn leaps after the fading night,

 And we're back in camp with the morning light;

 Riding...just riding along...

My creative soul is over charged. Overheating with excess energy. A weekend songwriting workshop, hosted by Professor Verlon Thompson. Verlon's modesty is only exceeded by his talent. He truly enjoys entertaining, teaching, and making new friends. Thanks Verlon for everything.

As a student of Shima-Ha Shorin-Ryu Karate, I understand how to steal an aggressor's energy. I do not however, understand the energy boost experienced after spending a few days with Verlon and fellow minded songwriters. No energy is lost or stolen but, everyone leaves with a overcharge. I love it! Maybe just the synergy of free spirits flying together, make the sum build muscle, then when divided upon departure, leaves all of us stronger. Like an lava feathered eagle shooting down the face of mountain, the intensity of the fire keeps building. Geez, I sound like a white coated scientist or a straight jacketed poet.

The show Sunday was exhilarating. Loved everyone's songs. I never had performed my new songs with a full band before. Cool stuff indeed. Thanks to Erin for singing high harmony and Joe for playing harp on Let Your Soul Sing It's Song. You guys brought it up to a nose bleed level....I mean a very high good level..not a ear splinting bad bloody level......

https://youtu.be/T_Lkg7GsKQQ

How about this album cover....wish I had a hair stylist.....

Focus.

So, I attend a wonderful 3 hour Verlon Thompson house concert in Cleveland, Ohio last night. Verlon is the best. Always delivering an inspiring heart felt show. Lay awake all night with lyrics running laps around my glowing brain.
Finally start to fell like sleep is close around 3 am and someone starts pounding on my door. Then every door on the third floor. Again and again, each time increasing intensity. Then the focus of the fist zeros in on my door. Hampton's are usually secure I thought. Throw on clothes and investigate in stealth mode. It was easy to see he wasn't packing any concealed weapons. Very short story short; the guy next store is locked out of his room naked (how do you do that at 3:30 am) and wanted the person still in the room to let him back in. Lovers quarrel?

I now present thru sleepy eyes a fitting Verlon Thompson song.

https://youtu.be/KSRoqYISevk

A Whisper And A Scream
Verlon Thompson

There's a tomcat in the alley scarin' up a fight
There's a mother softly kissing her little one goodnight
There's peace and then there's chaos, reality and dreams
We're all trying to strike a balance between a whisper and a scream

Sometimes I need attention when you need left alone
Sometimes you feel like clinging when I feel like being gone
But love me soft and tender and we'll make the rafters ring
As long as we meet somewhere between a whisper and a scream

Well, I know you'll be listening
And you know I'll be there
Between a whisper and a scream we'll find a prayer
Well I used to blow up easy and put my fist right through a wall

You were shut down like a holiday not feeling much at all
But we met there at the crossroad goin' to extremes
Thank God we found each other between a whisper and a scream
Somehow we found each other between a whisper and a scream

I got a kick out of this.

Which one are you?