When I was young my parents often played John Denver's music. Even as a child, his words touched my heart. As a teenager, I might not have shouted my affection for his music to the rooftops--after all, it wasn't "cool" to like that type of music--but I never stopped loving it. I admired his ability to capture the wonders of nature, the power of emotions, and that special something else that, to this day, I can't identify. He had an awareness of, a connection to, the world around him. Somehow, he managed to communicate all of it through song.
John Denver died October 12, 1997, in the crash of a small aircraft he'd built with his own hands. He died as he lived--sailing on the wind and appreciating the power and beauty of the world around him. His loss still saddens me, even 17 years later. I guess when someone touches your heart, they are destined to always be a part of you.
Fly free forever, sweet soul....
Windsong
by John Denver
Wind is the whisper of our mother the earth
Wind is the hand of our father the sky
Wind watches over our struggles and pleasures
The wind is the goddess who first learned to fly
Wind is the bearer of bad and good tidings
Weaver of darkness, bringer of dawn
Wind gives the rain, then builds us a rainbow
The wind is the singer who sang the first song
Wind is a twister of anger and warning
The wind brings the fragrance of freshly mown hay
The wind is a racer and wild stallion running
And the sweet taste of love on a slow summers day
The wind knows the songs of cities and canyons
Thunder of mountains, roar of the sea
Wind is the taker and giver of mornings
The wind is the symbol of all that is free
So, welcome the wind and the wisdom she offers
Follow her summons when she calls again
In your heart and your spirit, let the breezes surround you
Lift up your voice then and sing with the wind
“Stop mooning over that…that…man, for want of a better word.” Mama frowns and brushes the hair from my tear-soaked eyes.
“He’ll be back.” I grab his photo and trace his smiling face with my fingertips.
“You act like he hung the moon and stars.” Mama pulls the picture from my grasp and drops it facedown on the table. “He’s trouble.”
“He makes life exciting. He’s seen so much.” I reach for the picture again. She swats my hand away.
“He only visits once in a blue moon.” Mama’s voice is tinged with bitterness as she gets up to pace the room. “Stop wasting your life on false hope.”
“Any time with him is worth the wait. He promised to return as soon as he’s resolved some issues back home.” I watch Mama pause by the stack of suitcases perched expectantly by my bedroom door. Her fingers dance across the surface, leaving tracks in the thick dust.
“He promised you the moon. He didn’t deliver.”
“Not yet. Soon.” I sigh and turn my gaze to the window, straining to see the star system he calls home. Tonight it’s out of sight, hidden behind the Earth’s never-failing dance partner in the sky.