Stepping In

I wandered back toward the new digs. Down along the main street spilling with people visiting the many bars, sucked in by the sounds of music. In a bar played a band, a father and his two sons, him on electric guitar, the older boy with a sleepy eye strumming a silver tape-patched banjo, and the other, lupine, dominating a double bass taller than himself. There was something in the scruffiness of their hair, the blandness of their not-new clothes that suggested swamps. Each had their ey

es on the others hands. Their comfortable trinity hinted

at the hours they have rehearsed, honing that groove. They were performing Eric Clapton's 'Lay Down Sally' and they infused it with Bayou and fast-paced precision jamming. They were meshing. The three of them, with their serious far-away countenances, they were coasting as one. Their music was gorgeous and I could not walk away. First leaning against a tree and staring through the open doorway, then stepping inside.


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