A Place I Go

When I have a few days free of performances and obligations here at our studio in Charlotte, there's a place I go in the Low Country of South Carolina. It's a secluded place, the perfect spot to do some writing. There's no phone, no TV and no Internet.

Last week I had three concepts to present by Friday. It sounded like a good time for a few days "in the Village," to focus on the task at hand.

I have a writing table that looks out over a marsh and a small creek. It's very inspiring. Seated here with the salted breeze on my face, I can watch the marsh activities throughout the day. I see an osprey pluck a spottail out of the creek and soar skyward while he turns the fish in his talons to parallel his own body to better his aerodynamics. An egret stalks silently upstream and cormorants swim underwater. A giant pileated woodpecker drums on a pine tree while mullet jump three feet out of the water. Stoic blue herons stare out from the marsh grass. Amazingly, a bald eagle occasionally criss-crosses the marsh with a piercing scream to announce her arrival. Watching this wetlands smorgasbord, I tap away on my laptop.

As darkness falls, the writing intensifies. I have a bottle of Beaujolais tucked away. Bastille Day is a few months off, but I figure what the heck. As Buffett says, "I'm a Frenchman for a day." The Beaujolais is full-bodied and wonderful. It fuels the creative spirit. A draft of the three concepts is completed.

I spend the rest of my time in the Village editing and tinkering the piece. There's time for sitting on the dock and staring off across the marsh as the flag above pops in the prevailing breeze. The osprey checks back in and another mullet jumps. I'm sad that my time to leave is fast approaching. It's time to get back on the performance road.

I pack up and head out for some shows in Wake Forest, NC. My truck windows are open as I roll down the dirt road, I hear the bald eagle scream above the marsh and I look back for one final glance.