Tellers of Secrets

Tellers of secrets are sneaky.

They smile and look you right in the eye

while they pluck out your secret and tuck it under their wing.

They wait
for the worst possible moment to lift their wings to fly.

 Out drops your secret
to be seen
by everyone.

Tellers of secrets can't fly.

You know that.

 Dream stealers are even worse.

They are, at this moment, beyond discussion.

Bridging the Road

In my weariness, I followed the tracks of a road thinking it would be less tiring than the trail. Later, I noticed walking within the ruts was more exhausting since I was neither a snake nor did I have wheels.

I was relieved to come upon a river which flowed sleek and long and obliterated the damn ruts. It was a wide river with slow moving waters and no bridge. I sat down to watch.

Everywhere I had traveled, I had seen signs of others but I had met no one. Perhaps if I stayed in one place, this place, and waited someone would come along - someone who had been where I was going, someone who knew an easier way.

I became uneasy and backed away from the river's edge. I was not certain whether the river or the road carried the source of my concern and I was caught between them. I stood and turned to watch the road. It was familiar and familiarity evokes a comfort, of sorts.

In my weariness, I slipped and fell into the river that had no bed. Nothing floated on it. It could be called empty, even unfamiliar.

Now,  I am where I am going, wherever the river carries me.

...

The First Mirror

The River is old. Once

it held

the reflection of someone

who bent over its bank

and stared

for the longest time

at the water.

Between the long waters running

and the round moon shining

someone knelt.

And there,

upon the length of water

within the hold of moonlight

rested a mirror

the first mirror.
...

Buddy's Van

Here's Errol Linton himself beside the van with a couple of band members. They've just arrived in York and are getting ready to set up for the night's gig at The Speakeasy. Buddy is probably in the driver's seat. Resting.

The following morning, Buddy drove the band to the Knockengorroch Music Festival in Scotland. And then, on the next following morning, Buddy drove the Blues Vibe all the way down to Chichester at the southern end of the land in West Sussex. Here's Little George Sueref asking the question the answer to which everyone wanted to know hours ago, "Are we there yet?"

Mosgo's

After York, after Knockengorroch on the last Saturday in August, Adam goes back to California, borrows Lib's guitar, gets in Marlan's old ranch truck and heads down the road to Mosgo's. A London pub it's not - it's a cool little coffee shop complete with local artwork hanging on the walls, computers linked by wireless internet, lots of freshly baked pastries, and an efficient sound man.  No beer, but nobody minds. The music is great and everyone enjoys themselves, Adam and audience alike.

In a few days Adam will be back in London and on his way to a music festival with Errol Linton and the Blues Vibe in Buddy's van, not Marlan's pick-up truck, but this night he's playing the Blues in a small town in northern California and they like it.