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									SSG week 48 - Maxwell - Sunday Songwriters Group				            </title>
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                        <title>SSG week 48 - Maxwell</title>
                        <link>https://guitarnoise.forum/sunday-songwriters-group/ssg-week-48-maxwell/#post-1451</link>
                        <pubDate>Mon, 22 Sep 2003 07:07:17 +0000</pubDate>
                        <description><![CDATA[Playing a bit of catch-up here.The phrases: Whispering candlelightIn this dark we call creationPart one, The story:A depressed guy is walking through the forest at night, thinking about all ...]]></description>
                        <content:encoded><![CDATA[Playing a bit of catch-up here.<br><br>The phrases: <br>Whispering candlelight<br>In this dark we call creation<br><br>Part one, The story:<br><br>A depressed guy is walking through the forest at night, thinking about all of his troubles. Â He comes upon a clearing, where a beautiful woman in a flowing, silky gown dances joyfully, yet solemnly, in rhythm with the sounds of the night. Â He watches the dancer under the weight of all of his troubles. Â He is drawn to the woman and into her dance. As he dances with her, his troubles become less powerful, and leave him one by one, until he is left feeling relaxed, empowered, rejuvenated. Still dancing, he realizes he is alone, and there are no footprints in the soft earth but his own.<br><br>Part 2, imagery:<br><br>The story is happening in the forest at night, where the dude has gone hiking to get away from the 9 to 5 and all of its related troubles.  <br><br>It is a cool, misty night. Racoons call to one another, owls hoot eerily in the distance. The thousands of different insects join together with the gently rattling poplar leaves in the song of the night.  He finds the sounds and the cool mist comforting.  The soft earth of the forest floor comforts his feet.  The smell of the White Pines and the Poplars warm his olfactory senses.  Ferns brush his legs as he wades through them, their dew covered leaves cooling his legs.  He feels the texture of the tree bark, tastes, stops to taste the squawberries and chew on their wintergreen leaves.  He is pulled into nature because he is part of nature, and the forest is claiming its rights to its share of his soul, a share all but lost to the hum-drum of modern life. <br><br>Is the dancer real or imagined?  Does it matter? She reflects his desire in answer to his silent pleading, and for the night he is free.<br><br>I think I'll turn this into a short story when we are done with the song.  Guess I got a little carried away.]]></content:encoded>
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