Quite a few years ago, sitting outside on a deck overlooking the collegiate peaks of the Sangre de Cristo mountains near Buena Vista, CO, I wrote a song and titled it “Epic.” The year was 1993, and soon thereafter the fledgling duet/band I was half of, Ridgely, began playing it live. Eventually, we recorded it in Atlanta, GA (with producer Don McCollister) for our second, and final, album, The Only

Early this morning, I watched a squirrel jump from a low-hanging hackberry branch on to the gutter of my roof, all through the reflection in our neighbors’ kitchen window. Maybe 15 feet separates their Victorian from our Craftsman bungalow. We often wave at them from our wash-guest-office-laundry room whenever we see them through the panes. Our neighbors humor us, and wave back when we make fools of ourselves in this