There are some of us
Who played guitar when we were young
Who wrote poems and stories, then fell silent.
There are those who dreamed of drawing out
The sound and magic they discovered once
And letting it fly out into the world
Lighting here and darting there,
Building choruses that tumble and sway
Converging into harmonies of bursting color
Growing like a rising chorus.
Can you hear us?
Alana’s brought her guitar out of the closet
Where it’s called to her for years.
Bridget’s found her voice again
And trusted words to paper
Only to find that when she did that,
Chords appeared, and rhythms rose
From Alana's happy Washburn
And somehow, songs were born.
Woo Hoo!
Remarkable collision, this eclipse of dreams.
We call it….Waves of Adrenaline!