Sometimes I think Anton Chekhov came back as a folk blues singer from New England named Bill Morrissey. Morrissey tells such full stories about the people we meet every day, his lyrics delicate and deft, capturing just the right tone, the right observation. His songs are true and what more could one want.
In “Birches”, he captures the tension or maybe the dissolution of a marriage in a conversation and decision about that wood to put in the fireplace.
Oak will burn as long and hot as a July afternoon,
And birch will burn itself out by the rising of the moon.
The husband, practical and resolute, heads off to bed after reasoning with his wife. Yet…
She listened to his footsteps as he climbed up the stairs,
And she pulled a sweater on her, set her wineglass on a chair.
She walked down cellar to the wood box — it was as cold as an ice chest —
And climbed back up with four logs, each as white as a wedding dress.
And she filled the stove and poured the wine
and then she sat down on the floor.
She curled her legs beneath her as the fire sprang to life once more.
And it filled the room with a hungry light and it cracked as it drew air,
And the shadows danced a jittery waltz like no one else was there
Morrissey never became a star which baffles me. I could listen to him all day long.
#Songoftheday #spreadinghappiness #billmorrissey #birches #marriage
YouTube: https://youtu.be/Y5n5ceAv_Bc?si=QgQkzcant2w8ciNC
Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/track/31xGUSEqYIOS1tKh0Pzdml?si=3c92c5e9a9da427b