Yesterday my Uncle Chris died.
It should have been no surprise that my bizzaro subconscious jukebox had me singing Carolina In My Mind today.
The first concert I ever went to was James Taylor. I was 12 or 13 and he took us kids--Uncle Chris thought it was important that we see live music.
I know he is more at peace now then perhaps he ever was in life.
I sang, with my stuffy nose and froggy voice, Fire and Rain and Carolina and dedicated them to him, in my heart.
Later in the night, I sang Carolina as a lullaby to a baby.
And in this way I will sit my solitary, queer shiva. No one will probably even notice. I'm not even sure how to do it.
Another bright light has been snuffed out and the sky is forever darker for it, the world forever less.
Ain't it just like a friend of mine, to hit me from behind?
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