There’s birdsong, in the damp morning air
It’s always dawn somewhere
We walk through the grass, the dew soaks our shoes
We stop and kneel down, our faces to the ground
And never tell a soul, our secret ritual
Say a prayer to the morning, say a prayer to the day
May my hands be steady, may my mind be still
Put a pot on the stove of my favorite meal
May the work come willing, not to waste it away
To sleep easily at the end of the day
Sweep the floor and chop the vegetables, we’ll do it all again, just like we did before
Say a prayer to the mother, say a prayer to the child
There’s birdsong, in the damp morning air
It’s always dawn somewhere
We walk through the grass, the frost underfoot
We stop and kneel down, to take a closer look
And never tell a soul, our secret ritual
Say a prayer to the season, say a prayer to spring
May the thaw come early, may enough rain fall,
may the garden grow to feed us all,
may the apple trees blossom, may the blossoms fruit,
may the sun feed the leaves, and the leaves feed the root,
a fence to mend and always a chore,
we’ll do it all again, just like we did before.
Say a prayer to the season, say a prayer to the day,
say a prayer to the circle, say a prayer to the star.
Say a prayer to the birdsong, say a prayer to the worm
Sally Anne Morgan plays haunting psychedelic Appalachian folk drone that invokes the rhododendron thickets, creeks and
mountains of her local landscape in Western North Carolina. Sally plays with the Black Twig Pickers and House and Land, dedicated practitioners of traditional music re-cast by appreciation of modern improvisation, minimalism, microtonality and drone from across the globe....more
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