I met a very shy, but stunning woman online many years ago.  She lived up in the wilderness of California...deep in the Sierra Nevada, quite a drive past Paradise.  Eventually, after weeks of chatting on crappy dial-up, I decided to go meet her. This cd got packed into my threadbare carry-on and as such played confidently in my rather sketchy rental car as I started eastward into the gray-lit winding mountain highways.  The weatherman was calling for massive snow falls and the news kept saying that tire chains would be required.  Seemed like the world was telling me to turn back.  Carried on regardless.  Although my knuckles seemed to become more permanently paper-white with every falling flake and blind corner, Sarah and I arrived safely to her home, and in spite of my nerves and fears, I held out my hand to invite her into my world, this song playing quietly through the open door of my rental.

She was lovely and lunch was filled with laughter and the occasional held gaze.  Divine.  She commented that she liked the music playing as we drove back to her house.  I knew that I would never be back.  For all the anticipation and excitement, the remoteness was too great a barrier to overcome.  So, we hugged and smiled and said that we would do it again, although we knew it would never come to pass.  And as we parted, I handed her my Sarah Slean.  And I drove back to the world in silence.  In the deep forest, with giant piles of snow accumulating along the way, which seemed to match my mood perfectly.

So, somewhere out there in the hinterlands of the west is a copy of this cd.  I hope she still plays it.  Every time I hear it, I think of that day.  And of the things that might have been.

I met a very shy, but stunning woman online many years ago.  She lived up in the wilderness of California...deep in the Sierra Nevada, quite a drive past Paradise.  Eventually, after weeks of chatting on crappy dial-up, I decided to go meet her. This cd got packed into my threadbare carry-on and as such played confidently in my rather sketchy rental car as I started eastward into the gray-lit winding mountain highways.  The weatherman was calling for massive snow falls and the news kept saying that tire chains would be required.  Seemed like the world was telling me to turn back.  Carried on regardless.  Although my knuckles seemed to become more permanently paper-white with every falling flake and blind corner, Sarah and I arrived safely to her home, and in spite of my nerves and fears, I held out my hand to invite her into my world, this song playing quietly through the open door of my rental.

She was lovely and lunch was filled with laughter and the occasional held gaze.  Divine.  She commented that she liked the music playing as we drove back to her house.  I knew that I would never be back.  For all the anticipation and excitement, the remoteness was too great a barrier to overcome.  So, we hugged and smiled and said that we would do it again, although we knew it would never come to pass.  And as we parted, I handed her my Sarah Slean.  And I drove back to the world in silence.  In the deep forest, with giant piles of snow accumulating along the way, which seemed to match my mood perfectly.

So, somewhere out there in the hinterlands of the west is a copy of this cd.  I hope she still plays it.  Every time I hear it, I think of that day.  And of the things that might have been.