Morning after...

24 February 2007, Friday. Blue blue all across the sky--the storm must be way east by now, out over the valley. Air rinsed clean, slight chill...ready to go... Last night, again until late--Woody Guthrie--his wiry vitality. Okemah, Oklahoma--the Indian Territories--a hole in America, tornados and oil. Then the drought. "Dust storms hit, they hit like thunder. Dusted us over and covered us under..." Churning clouds all along the horizon, out of nowhere... The West Texas plains--Pampa--his uncle Jeff, a few songs. Heading west, by whatever means. Everything stuffed and strapped into an old Ford--if you had one--and if you had gasoline--the Depression, too. "Shows the damn bankers men that broke us, and the dust that choked us..." Sing what you see--his guide light. Sing what you see...