Faint voices and delicate melody amble on bravely though still gentle, still soft. Hands that once shook, now steady at last. The Western sky glows too red-hot to look at, stare into it anyway; beyond this sunset lays the promise of evergreen boughs hanging heavy under soft rains, heavens hidden by thick fog; a solemn vow that this world is still enough. Tree trunks scarred deep, now healed, gnarled bark grown back and burled; different now but still standing, still thriving.
Memories forced to fade now flood forward; river hard frozen for decades long winter thaws at long last, and flows again. Moments flicker to life in golden light, glowing from within, bright behind closed eyes. Mourn the loss of these days but do not forget them; lay to rest the part of you that still haunts the house you grew up in. Seek solace in knowing that the bones buried in the backyard did not turn to dust—marrow turned to earth, paperwhite narcissus still spring forth from them each year near your birthday. They grow from loss and so must you. Grief like a phantom limb; dull and unending pain from something that is not there, will never be again, and maybe never was. Carry on still, anyways.
Recollections, fragmented into obscurity still must be pieced together again; sometimes looking back is the only path to guide you forward. Free yourself at long last from the tomb you buried yourself in so long ago; the blame is not your burden to carry but still you must be your own resurrection. Patron saint of the weary, do not yet resign yourself to succumb to unforgiving desert sun. Martyr no longer, move onward; footsteps over parched miles become your gospel; glory still within your reach so long as you are ever in motion. Where you have been, who you once were is not predestination; trace the broken lines on the palms of your hands and take comfort; through destruction or decay, a path is hollowed for new passage. Step steadfastly from the shadows; a final ritual farewell to the specters of your past.
This is dedicated to my father; not to the person he was, and still is, but to the ghost of what could have been, but never was.
Tenderness is available for pre-order on cassette through Z Tapes. Listen to the album for yourself below:
More about: Awenda Provincial Park
