Wrong Number, Right Day
It all began with a wrong number. A voice talking in my ear, coming from across the waves. Now, I’m living in a border town. Float planes flying low over the downtown skyline outside my second-floor window. It was the wrong number on the right day. A day shining bright with the light of night. Sometimes the human heart’s a funny thing. Yeah the opposite is true too. Otherwise, what’s the journey of life for? Imagination, wonder, and wanderings. All leading to known and unknown cities, faces, hands. An alleyway turning into a side street. From the South to Manhattan. From the East Coast to Cascadia. I landed in Raintown back before most people could point to it on a map. Music made headlines, and clubs sprang up like mushrooms in the wilderness. Years later, she showed up with a song in her pocket, and her heart on her sleeve. The odds of it all turning out were a million to one. I went up to the window and placed my bet. They say only fools bet on love, but the world’s full of foolish souls. Turns out, the odds were in my favor. Up on the deck, the crows ask me for eggs on toast for breakfast and tell me news of the day. Trust me, the crows say. And I listen.