This morning we woke up to the singing of a wild California bird – without knowing what in heck it was, I was taken back to moments of the same feeling, while camping out in Joshua Tree back in the ’90′s. The bird has a million different things to say, and they just keep coming. In Dickinson’s words, “Hope is the thing with feathers. That perches in the soul.”

It’s been a wildly eventful tour in Round Mountain’s little cosmos. Shows in the upward-yawning redwoods and up to the bay, down through the central coast of rocks and golden hills and estuaries, through the beginning of palm trees and on into the valley Mt. Baldy broods over. All in the company of good friends, amongst and across our demons, emptying out into this good night (without going gentle)! I haven’t written a thing about it because, dear world, I haven’t felt like it. I finally made the connection – if we don’t write about all the gigs, then you’ll have to go and see for yourselves.

It’s been a huge dose of inspiration seeing Inga, Moira, and April at work. There’s been some serious calling to answer to in the realm of raising our game, and after/ through a string of six nights, we’ve had a tremendous renewal in bringing our own spirit to the table. We’ve been learning. Some shows have been restorative, some tough internally, but it was a glorious one tonight with VOCO at the Coffee Gallery Backstage. We were elated, and felt the healing of the past times we’d tried to fill the place. And coming outside into this full moon night, whom should we hear but our bird friend, still carrying on boldly. We stand in gratitude.