Voices on the Wind Voices in Tribute
An ancient word by Mark Vogel steps off the page reminding of Bill Lightfoot’s laugh, both at the center of relevance today. Like the word, and Bill both were saying I’m here, so deal with it. Already dusk approaches, the day is repeating itself, becoming used, skin lived in so the word and the memory of Bill makes the day distinct, rich with sardonic humor—so much freshness happy to be alive. Like a hint of old Kentucky has come alive, along with poker playing and whisky, prompted by this word closeted for so long. In the accompanying story white had been falling for some time, in that strange patch of Frazier Fir Christmas trees Bill allowed to grow wild, as the two of us smoked a joint, when we noticed the brown ground had disappeared, all the old world gone. Both of us looked around, and smiled, knowing it would be a sin to even try to articulate what the hell would happen next.