Jan has lived and worked and dreamed all over the place, from Maine to Mexico. Here's a song from her times in the West, her own unique view of a travelling life. (I've wondered, sometimes, if genius might just begin with always seeing the world around you as astonishing, wondrous, heartstopping. And genius she is, from her astonishing proliferation of plays, rounds, children's songs, political songs, and choral works to her endless outflowings of visual, tactile arts.) We'll never sing all she's written, though there are a few hundred of us, to date, trying. Jan and I sing this song quite differently, which is okay by her. This version still feels a little "muscular" to me, but I know it will settle down, or settle up, as we sing it more. I'm looking forward to that. [GB] Gordon: 12-string guitar.
Lights flicker on in a town 'neath the mountain
Where night first comes down like a patch of black satin,
And the road seems too long between Casper and Jackson
When you're tired of travelling alone.
Blackthorn and cottonwood drink up the Muddy; *
Just buckwheat and sky between Cheyenne and Cody.
Like a maplewing sown under red leaves blown down,
It's time to be going back home.
You cross the Wind River on your way to Big Timber;
The people are friendly, the aspen is amber.
Folks sing all the choruses they can remember,
And you sleep in a room of your own.
Blackthorn and cottonwood ...
And all by the roadside the wild birds fly
Up out of the thistle and into the sky;
Red birds, black birds, they sing as they fly .
... Thank Heaven for wild birds.
They' re all dressed up in feathers with colors outrageous;
They soar from this earthly-bound kingdom of cages
On delicate wings, so small and courageous.
It's time to be going back home.
Blackthorn and cottonwood ...
You can see the rain coming for miles down the prairie
Like a great herd of antelope, running like fury,
And you stop at a diner outside Canyon Ferry
For coffee and a taste of the town.
Blackthorn and cottonwood ...
And all by the roadside the wild birds fly
Up out of the thistle and into the sky;
Red birds, black birds, they sing as they fly .
... Thank Heaven for wild birds.
They're all dressed up in feathers with colors outrageous;
They soar from their earthly-bound kingdom of cages
On delicate wings, so small and courageous ...
*"The Muddy": the Big Muddy River.