With the chords from the banjo sounding off through the amplifier memories drift into my consciouscness. The lonliness of being out on the road penetrates my core just like before. No one but myself and companion. Listening to this song creates little paths that lead me through the thickets of time. Thorny bushes perhaps but even rose bushes contain these. I remember tall thin trees filled. Their arms stretched out toward the highway's edges, their tiny hands bestowing crinkly fingers of fiery yellows and reds upon the asphalt. It's always the same with me. The passing of time seeps sadness deep, conjuring up the days of old and making me realize that I often live in the throes of recollection.