Watch July fly by. The hands on my clock point to 5 and 9 but I can't be held down by chronological chains. If you must measure my existence do so by the tree rings, flood lines or in dog years. I've been around the block a few times and I've seen plenty. I'm old enough to sing the blues.Yes and young enough to run circles around a lot of youse. Look out here I come, the low tech dinosaur carrying yellow ledger pad & pencil and who claims a synthesizer will never replace fingers on strings. Making art is time out of mind. In the throws of creativity everything is as it should be in a state of timelessness and full of grace.The rest of the time I feel gravity aging all things and I long for the lightness of heaven.