wheelbros

It’s summertime in the Outer Banks. Finally a couple days to rest between shows. My porch hammock is rocking just barely enough to feel. Sticky salt-air clamming my clothes reminds me that the night is thick with adventure somewhere out there. The distant sound of 1 a.m. fireworks out on the beach dunes confirms it....But my day is disappearing into a strange dream. Every place has its own strange dream, tonight this long thin sand peninsula is reaching out into the Atlantic Ocean, fishing for a dream to take me from this netted porch and into some desolate paradise wonderland. I hope I remember it. Who knows what continents in the mind have been dreamt, discovered, and lost to daylight. I woke up from a dream. Suddenly I was back in my hammock on the porch. It had been swinging so wildly that it was circling around house. It swung way out over the yard like a Chair-O-Planes carnival ride. The rope should’ve wound itself around the whole house but instead it grew longer and spun faster until I realized—I’m still inside my dream! At that moment the rope vanished and I was flying in a hammock like a magic carpet over Duck, North Carolina.

At night we lit a beachfire under the hut and jammed on the acoustic guitar and ukulele. The stars were clearer than normal. And the moon was a crooked smile in the sky, falling into deepening gold as it set on the horizon. Read More...