Tonight’s my last night on the tour with Kathleen Edwards. Sad. It’s my second tour with Kathleen and third tour with her guitarist Jim Bryson, who’s the reason I met Kathleen. Touring with people is like joining a temporary wolf pack. You travel city to city, inches apart. You carry and protect others’ posessions. The well tend to the sick. You share cabs and amps and makeup and books and chips and lots of stories. You know how each person likes his eggs cooked. You’re all far from home so you talk about home in a way you only can when you’re away from it, and you talk about those wide-angle zoomed-out expansive kinds of feelings that only being away from home seems to afford. Then suddenly the tour’s over. The pack disperses into various stretches of wilderness and what’s left between us is some kinda hazy little tribal branding mark that burns in the good way.

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