September 29, 2008

Kristin Hersh

It's a funny thing.

If you've ever had anyone close to you die, you may have noticed that in the first year or two after their death it's the anniversaries that can really lay you low. (Their birthday, your birthday, etc.)

But after a few years, (at least, this is what I've found) anniversaries no longer hold quite the same sway over you -- their meaning or significance has ... perhaps faded ever so slightly with time? Your feelings haven't faded, it's just that they'll overtake you at seemingly quite random, surprising moments.

Sometimes there might be a trigger. Like an old song buried deep in a now rarely used playlist.

I have this one song -- it's a very personal, very old favourite. I don't know if anybody else in the whole wide world knows this song, except the extraordinary being who created it, (and perhaps a few of her especially intense fans.)

I've always found this song exquisitely sad. And profoundly hopeful. And very, very, beautiful. (A bit like grief, I suppose: Sorrow and hope (and beauty) intricately intertwined.)

Here we are, then, (and thank you Ms. Hersh):


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