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| 'Why is it always night here?' wondered the cat watching the constant dripping of seawater fall from the upper decks down to the great hall. She stepped through the maze of rolled charts, pickle jars of yellowed organic samples, discarded cups and plates of food; stopped to sniff a stash of small liquor bottles and cigars only she knew were there.
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CD: Hanging Gardens
Label: Billy Hale Music
Credits: Billy Hale |
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| As the sun comes up a bird of prey drops into Tallinn, the ancient medieval European city. The falcon swoops between black onion-domed cathedral spires, past the metal communication dishes and antennas, into the fair urban park where we lay our scene. |
CD: Hanging Gardens
Label: Billy Hale Music
Credits: Billy Hale |
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| The plain white sands of the beach stretched out like the capital of some foreign country, forever before you, the lover of the realm, yet everything close as the lapping blue waves. Our house above in the cove held a memory of reading a book, nestled in a hammock of simple summer breezes, navy and white striped cushions, and Borges’ stories.
As night came drifting through space, a beautiful evening storm with fiery peaks lit up the deep in bright blue flashes, and even the sea mammals darted under the waters in playful response. Sometimes the waves splash in the break over the farthest deck, hanging gardens of sapphires and I can see it from here.
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CD: Hanging Gardens
Label: Billy Hale Music
Credits: Billy Hale |
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