Tambourine Man

Before leaving I decided to take my guitar up a trail to an overlook. I sat on a boulder and strummed Mr. Tambourine Man. “I’m not sleepy and there is no place I’m going to.” Playing a guitar in a box and playing one on the side of a mountain are two different things. I liked the mountain better. It seems like the melody could keep floating out through the valley on the back of the wind, caressing the countryside and gurgling through the streams. I hammered out a few more songs on my beat-up guitar before slowly climbing back down to the campsite.