"Calypso on the East Ridge"
I have flown on feet of snow
Beneath the fir trees, above the catacombs of roots
And I have met you in a sudden squall
You who would keep me in place and cause me to say,
“There have been no years.”
"I'm not sure about you, but I am fond of the tendency of modern distillers to sound as if they have married the earth on which they grow their grains."
"Something about 'classic-ification' — or was it the wine — makes each decade’s pop more enduring, reminds us that our songs can be hymns, too."
@PalaceHotelSF @WeAreVSQ@napafest
