Tuesday, July 29, 2008

Casey sighed from what was not, and dreamed, and rested from his labors.

The floor of our apartment is strewn with photographs, hair ties, ceramic bowls, stray socks and the collected miscellany of the past two years. But other than that, it's empty. If my latest iTunes playlist--which consists solely of Townes Van Zandt and Bonny "Prince" Billy--is any indication (and it is), I'm already mentally back in America, ensconced in Americana, eating comfort food and playing Scrabble with the folks. It's a bit dull and a bit predictable, but I find myself thinking of weathered fenceposts and old barns, the out-of-tune pianos and faded photographs of a past America that pulls at me like a sepia tide. I've always been a Miniver Cheevy for U.S. history ("Casey cursed the marketeers/ And eyed Armani suits with loathing:/ He missed the rustic grace/ Of hobo clothing.").

1 comment:

Unknown said...

have a lovely trip back home friends.