I was all set to sing at an open mic session last night, in the café of Minard.  Out of my mouth would flow the words of Stan Rogers’ “45 Years”.  That’s him in the pic.

I knew the schedule – last Monday of each month.  Except this time it wasn’t.  Another event occupied the space.  Open mic time was last Tuesday.  (Sigh)

Yes, I was nervous to sing, but far more excited than that.  So I started my slow slump home.

I dropped into my favourite hangout spot – Izy Coffee on the Langemunt.  I told my sad story to the barista and three customers sitting nearby.  And then …

“May I sing you the song?”

They smiled and nodded.  The barista turned off the radio.

And there I stood, waiting for the first line to emerge.  It didn’t.

Where the ______ shows its bones

Of wind-broken stone

What was that word?  Four human beings gazed at me.  Still nothing.  More slumping.

I told the barista that he could turn the music back on.  I put my mittens back on and turned to leave.

Defeat

One of the customers called out something like “Please sing.”  I looked into his eyes.  I sensed the bigness of the moment.  Teetering on the edge of my future.

I took off my mittens.  I returned to the four fellows.  The radio filled the room.

And the word “earth” came to mind.

I sang