The wash of sea set a score, emanating from the base of high cliffs. I hoisted a pack and travel guitar, and made my way toward town.
Although mine was a record and dad’s was a tape, there was no mistaking a shift in the axis that staked our two worlds.
Together we embraced the galaxial view, climbed higher and higher. Reaffirmed choices, what got us there, advances and setbacks, every moment a soundtrack
Sailing hard for ten hours, we ploughed our way into a lee at the mouth of a river, a sailors’ safe haven for centuries.