8 October 2010. Autumn sun, beatific.
Sweet voice of mother from Pakistan, a thank you--as she must speak with her children...
Last night: gathering of song, soda bread and Candy Man at Lothlorien. Dark shadows of Barbara Allen, with Terry's spontaneous a capella rendition--modal chords and Jean Ritchie's sinuous embellishments. Learned from her grandmother, in the mountains...or from an iPod in Berkeley. ("I've been singing it all week...") Gyspy Davie, at the outset. These stories. "...tonight I lay on the cold cold ground by the side of Black Jack David..."
Redolent...a good word to share...
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