You know how it goes when you're sweeping the dirt and it kicks up in your face and it gets in your lungs and you cough and look down at the spot where you spit and get a little ticked but realize you had to make a mark, a little space to say "this is where it's about to go down" and you start. You look around and take what you can and place a pile of kindle and twigs together and hope for a little smoke and pour out your breath like a whisper at first and then a steady wind and then powerful gusts as the smoke builds up and hope, in a moment, there will be a flicker into a flame and then maybe as it grows you'll have a steady fire. Alright, you're with me. Everyone is hoping for this flame but kicking up the dirt first isn't easy. Searching for the sticks to stick and the flicker to flame and what seems to be a waste of breath passing through a pile of twigs doesn't make a way. It just doesn't. Well here I am. I've been sweeping dirt and I'm singing and playing and there's a stirring of a flame and I am slowly seeing the smoke and come September I'll be searching for the flame, that moment that it breaks. And then there will be heat but here's where my plans change. Then I want a pot and I want some dirty gold and I'll put it in the pot and sustain the flame and over time and thousands of days I'm hoping for this refinement. Not of my music but of myself, my soul. I'm thankful for this process because I'm hoping for pure gold. It's only just now heatin' up.