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Backyard

This song is called "Backyard" - a delta blues lament for my garden which, after nearly half a decade of raising small children, is looking a little worse for wear. It is performed in my garage by a mysterious fellow who calls himself Stonewall Slim. Apparently the trash and cardboard boxes in there generate great acoustics. When you are outdoors in New England, you become keenly aware that the woods around you are filled with the remnants of lost farms - stone walls and old foundations. The settlers who built them moved on, and the trees and vegetation rapidly closed in, swallowing whatever traces remained of their toil. Sure enough, when I was out there in the early days clearing the undergrowth and planting my lawn, I caught sight of a dark figure out in the woods, fixing me with a cold, unblinking gaze. She and her legions lay in wait for the right moment to strike, reclaim what was rightfully theirs, and erase my endeavors.