If I move pebbles into a pile, water has to go around it, the pile is a force to be reckoned with, however small. Each word, that builds a line, that hooks a melody, crates a pile, a verse a chorus.

Fuse the piles, I get stones. The stones together create a foundation, something to build on. Each song a stone, part of a catalog, a record or EP.

When I look up a mountain, I see boulders and stones protruding the earth, I wonder, will I be able to scale to the top? But do I need to scale the top? Or simply take another path with upward steps toward the horizon, where I can get a better view of the top?

My working to do list includes:

1. A rewrite of a sort-of-country song for a second evaluation
2. Tracking a song I’m rewriting as I go to present at a feedback session in a couple of weeks, one of 3-4 songs for a homegrown EP to share with fans by mid-year (another list in itself)
3. A scratch track of chords/melody for an idea to send to a new co-writer who is a lyricist

I might view each of these efforts as a mountain. If I stand at the base of any of these mountains, pondering the climb, I’ll likely see the top of neither. This week I started walking up alternate pathways, stopping but briefly enjoy a glimpse of each peak, then pressing on up the steady incline.