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Updated: Mar 27

It’s a rainy morning at the harbor

Under a low-hanging gray sky I sit parked

I can usually see as far as the city

But this morning the view is just dark.

It all seems strangely incongruous

Because in reality a new day is dawning

Prospects are bright, emerging from night

Into a glorious morning.

The old shell cracks and falls away

And I step out into the world

Like a baby bird who’s heard the word

Stretching out after months of being curled

And forming and incubating

And dreaming and scheming and planning

Until the time to hatch and to be born is here

I look about and see where I’m standing.

I could stretch out wings and fly

Through that cloud-packed sky

And up above I can feel the love

Of those happy to see me try.

And how come it’s been taking me so long to do this

What’s been keeping me from being this way

It’s been taking me so long to understand

That the sum total of the past is where I am today.

The flag is flapping with a frayed edge

Some seagulls fly sideways by

They say there’s a winter storm headed this way

But “they” have been known to lie.

The hunger pangs start to attack me

And distraction begins to set in

But those are only temporary setbacks

As I wait for the era to begin.

The era can turn into an epoch

If I only take a small step

But the sidewalk crack it is may as well be the Grand Canyon

The simplicity is so hard to accept

And how come it’s so hard for me to do this

What keeps me from breaking through and flying away

How come it’s so hard for me to grasp the idea

That the sum total of the past is where I am today

©2023 The Hesh Inc.

Rainy morning in the harbor
It's a rainy morning in the harbor ... (Photo by Laura Deckelman, of blessed memory)

This one dates back to the writing burst that happened in the period immediately preceding 9/11, when I was working at a publishing production services company in Atlantic Highlands, NJ. The town itself is quaint in an old–Jersey Shore kind of way, with Victorian houses along tree-lined streets and a harbor with a spectacular view of New York Bay. My office, however, was a windowless room inside a steel shed of a building, and it was quite claustrophobic, as was the job itself. During lunch I would go down to the harbor and ponder my assorted predicaments as I ate and watched the boats and ferries come and go ... chiefly, why am I stuck in this day-job predicament when there are so many musical irons in the fire? And what keeps me from taking that step from 9-5 servitude into the artist's life? This was the agitation that produced a lot of songs, as well as taking some actions in my life to try to improve the situation without producing the desired results. And so it goes.


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