Beams of Light

Thoughts on music, parenthood, memory, and Gregory Alan Isakov

The rain turns the highway into beams of light, and glowing brakes stretch into long red gashes. Miles behind us, the quiet countryside hunkers down under the October rain and an early evening darkness; in front of us, the city skyline emerges from the mist like some futuristic metropolis. Traffic is stop and go.

This is life now, where I am old enough …