I find everything a struggle.

October's gold is dim — the forests rot, The weary rain falls ceaseless, while the day Is wrapped in damp.

Wonder in everything No matter how great or small... Same thing that's scrawled across the stars Is written under our skin... There's a time to search for understanding Sometimes you just got to sing New horizons, new horizon within

In terms of writing, I think something happens to you, and you think, "Oh I'm going to write about that. That's an emotional event." But obviously, if you keep going, and it's something you do with regularity, you've got to find other ways to write.

There's nightingales calling, shooting stars falling, like jewels in the rain.

Everything's stolen. Everything precious - be it a kiss, or be it James Brown - gets misappropriated to the aid of the advertising executives. So, an act of reclamation, somewhere else to be: that's what I want my music to be. Somewhere you can step into. A place.

I'm absolutely flooded with a raucous energy to get out into the world and tell my story again. I feel like this is spring. After a period of shriveling, out come the leaves.