I am snowed in in Joplin, Missouri, sending this dispatch from my phone. This afternoon we played cards and looked out at the snow piling up below the deck, and this song came on the travel speaker. I remembered it as “May The Springtime Come Again” but I looked and saw it’s “When The Springtime Comes Again." So I was pleased to see the conditional switch to an eventuality. Spring will come, someday. In the meantime my hair is turning silver mid-strand. Or else maybe it's been frozen too many times in one week. It doesn’t matter. John Fahey’s guitar playing, much like Christ, is neither East nor West. It has no beginning and it has no end.
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April 2021 / Dear friends,
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