Straddle the ridge, the sun mounts again in the distance. The bridle and bit, the hands and the feet feel resisted. The vagueness of idleness and sin, and a day's worth of work to fence in. Caution's conditioned, a nature inherited's careless. The fear of the flame burns through a fallow field. A steady, work-worn grace coaxes embers to a blinding rage. And they'll go back in (roam upwind) when the dust plants itself in the skin, and let silence survive the death of the din. Failures and glories make short work of stories but scrape up and wear thin a life. The valleys are dried out, the water's low hideouts are the dark in the well witch's nights. Fence post and cable keep elbows off tables if they're sure and they're straight and set tight. And I'm writing this letter to burn it up later and I'll know what it meant when it lights.
credits
from Almanac,
released August 10, 2017
Emily Bos - vocals
Brett Caswell - pedal steel, piano
Mary Doust - vocals
Evan Dwinnell - drums
Rebekah Hawker - vocals
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