Complex things are easy to do. Simplicity's the real challenge.

We're all getting lashed to the great wheel of uniformity.

And I remember most of what I know that is good and true and lasting has come not from scholars but from minstrels and gypsies.

I am the highway and a peregrine and all the sails that ever went to sea

There are songs that come free from the blue-eyed grass, from the dust of a thousand country roads. This is one of them.

When a woman makes the choice to marry, to have children; in one way her life begins but in another way it stops. You build a life of details. You become a mother, a wife and you stop and stay steady so that your children can move. And when they leave they take your life of details with them. And then you're expected move again only you don't remember what moves you because no-one has asked in so long. Not even yourself.

The road is a strange place. Shuffling along, I looked up and you were there walking across the grass toward my truck on an August day. In retrospect, it seems inevitable - it could not have been any other way-- a case of what I call the high probability of the improbable