Columbus, Half-Eaten Toast

Posted on October 19, 2007


And I’m perfectly okay with pretending no one else is in the car and disappearing into my own world. I am Columbus and the road in front of me is the Unknown World.

In those moments I am a singer with my band and I am singing for six hundred people. My audience are the headlights and streetlights that come into view along the way.

We could sneak onto stage and create a town of people on the walls with our shadows as we dance. Or move to New York city one day without warning and talk deep into the night and long into the sunrise on the porch of a tiny apartment that sits high above an already conscious city. Half eaten toast would be sitting next to me with the small green plant that eats up the sunshine.

I feel alive. Awake.

After the concert was over, the city still called softly. Our feet moved over the wet concrete as window after window spoke life and beauty. Eclectic food, clothing I didn’t know existed, and indie movies playing at the old theatre close by. We walked slowly through the rainy downtown talking about the sweet and gentle music instead of the tense day we left behind.

My dog is asleep at my feet. I am wrapped in a blanket and listening to a song off “Some Mad Hope”. It’s past 1am, and here I am thinking about such small things that run around in my head.