Week Three: Story of the Year

First of all-- Thank You

The response to last week's In the Light was completely overwhelming. Thank you so much for listening and sharing it with your friends, and thank you to all the new folks listening and watching this little project.

Much like last week, I had something different planned for this week's song. Once again, my gut intervened at the last minute, and I recorded something else.

This song, Story of the Year, was the first song I wrote after the election. Like many of you, I felt dazed and shocked, and completely unable to tap back into life-as-usual. This had its upsides. I became more politically active overnight. While I was glad for the change, I soon felt like I had lost a critical balance in my life. The events in the larger world made everything else seem ridiculously small, including the good things. 

I wrote this song to myself, as a reminder that all of the good, small things in the world still matter. The video is of Ithaca Falls, one of the many beautiful waterfalls in the city I am lucky to call home.

Beauty is fuel, and we need it now more than ever.

Lyrics
Another dream down the drain
And it's the story of the year
Now November is freezing the rain
Just an insult to injury

But the wind put a newfound spring in my step
And the snow made a beautiful cling in your hair
And we made it inside, both freezing and wet
And sparkling

Break the spell
Break the fall
Remind me that anything done well
Is a gift for us all
It's a gift for us all

All our love letters fell out of our pockets
And the salutations bled out in the rain
They floated down gutter rivers to be fished out by hungry hands

There is so much we need
No shortage of mouths and hearts to feed
So spare some of your beauty to be gleaned from the fields

Tuck the children in tight
Make your grandmother's grasshopper pie
And sing with your friends through the brittle-boned nights
of December

Break the spell
Break the fall
Remind me that anything done well
Is a gift for us all
It's a gift for us all
​
Somehow we mend
We all have our own tiny acre to tend
Out here with dirt on our hands
I can almost believe
Break the spell...

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