’ The old man stopped talking for a bit, letting his guitar build the fences around the listeners, each melody, each chord, each note drawing them i..., closer to the fire, closer to the warmth. Looking closely at his wrinkled face, red with a leather tough skin, the people could see where his tears had streamed down his face as he told the story. He took a deep breath and then continued his story. ‘Now Bill spent the first half of the year building his Bois-de-arc wood fences and then in the. So he writes, ‘Dear xxxxx..’ No, not correct, he rewrites. ‘Dear xxxxxxx, Our time together was too sweet for my memories, I feel them, like in those silly romance movies we never watched together, filled with background music. Yes, I can actually remember our times together as if floating in a song…’ He pauses a long moment, knowing that while the music he speaks of could be contained in a song by Tool, Nine Inch Nails, Dave Matthews Band or even Simon and Garfunkel, it would be inappropriate.. More

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