Liner notes
My grandmother taught me to walk with my eyes down, and I never quite unlearned it. Thirty years of looking at boards and joints, and still the first rain of October sends me straight to the oak roots with a basket. I wrote this one quick, on the porch, with the woodsmoke coming up the holler and a grin I couldn't shake. It's lighter than most of what I do, and I figured the hills could stand a little bright after all that sawdust and sorrow. Bring a knife, a paper bag, and somebody who knows what's safe to eat.
Silas Marrow