My time at Elsewhere went by so fast, and yet the daily mornings by the woodstove, the afternoon walks through downtown Paonia, and the evenings spent sipping tea, writing, and sharing stories with the other residents, seemed like an endless lifetime of comfortable creativity.
And yes the Woodstove…what a metaphor for my process of writing music. At times, I felt that my energy was like a warm simmer, where if I moved away from the heat, I would feel cold, but close enough, things were just right. Other times I was burning up, popping out idea after idea, excited and motivated. And other times I was dead cold, looking for fuel for the fire, reaching, flickering the lighter, hoping something would get started.
I set out with the goal to experiment with the process of songwriting at Elsewhere. As a burgeoning songwriter and nationally touring musician, I’ve been writing songs for years, always with the feeling of other responsibilities to attend to. For this one month retreat in the Gingerbread House, I was able to solely focus on my craft, a privilege and an honor that I was so grateful to enjoy and explore.
The best part was, one of my songs turned out to be about the Woodstove that I so frequently interacted with. I’ve included the words to that song below. And I look forward to releasing the video that I made with local filmmaker Teya Cranson on my website www.kyburt.com. Thanks to Elsewhere, the residents, and the community of Paonia for a productive month of honoring the muse.
The Wood Stove Song
When the sun is swallowed by the night
And the moon is shining brightly
And the embers are burning alive
While the stars seek to gather
And the crickets cease their chatter
Before the morning after
There’ll be sparks in the wood stove tonight
The windows set crooked in the stone
And the firelight dancing on the ceiling
And the mist is rising off the bones
Where the old trees save each other
From the winds of their mother
Before the morning after
There’ll be sparks in the wood stove tonight
Leaping silhouette, leaping over the fire
Peering from the darkness, warm to the touch I desire
And its you and me babe, flickers of our dreams
Staring in the image of what we might
And its you and me babe, flickers of our dreams,
Staring in the image of what might be
When the moon is shadowed by the light
And the sun is shining brightly
And the birds are chirping up high
While the meadow sways its flowers
And the raincloud pours in showers
Before the golden hour
There’ll be dust in the wood stove,
There’ll be dust in the wood stove.
There’ll be dust in the wood stove.
