I Don’t Want To Take A Chance
Wee Willie Walker
Two weeks ago we had the daddy of all drifts across our lane. A six foot high wall of snow. There was no getting out or getting in. We hunkered down and waited for things to thaw. When I say no getting out or in, I mean for us; the birds and rabbits and foxes had no such problems. I trace their prints in the morning, winding across the snow in search of who knows what – food, shelter, friends.
Today, after a night of rain, the sky is clear, the sun is out, the stream is over flowing its banks. The melt has come.
There is no best. There’s only a whole lot of stuff that keeps changing.
I remember as a child, driving along the Texas coast with my father, listening to the radio, and telling him that the song playing was “the best song ever!” When the next song came on I dismissed it, saying “this song is awful.”
He stopped the car and we stood on the beach. After a few minutes he said, listen to everything! Who are you to turn up your nose at someone’s hard work? You can’t say that anything is the best. I don’t wanna hear that. You can’t dismiss anything. That’s like standing on the beach and saying you got a favourite wave. It’s nonsense.
Music, he says, just keeps coming.
So maybe this record isn’t the best. Maybe it’s not my favourite. But right now, this morning, it’s pretty near. I put it on the turntable and watch the dripping world. I listen to Wee Willie Walker sing as the snow melts. This song makes the world a better place.
If ever I’m asked about my favourite song this is the one that comes up. I don’t know why. If I did it wouldn’t be so powerful. Something to do with memory and waves and a summer beach and the Texas coast and the radio and my father.