A letter and proposed story from a reader reminded me of this incident, which has been buried in my memories. Songs my mother used to sing. Songs I had not heard since her death almost 10 years earlier. And while I read her words, the sounds of that lone saxophonist suddenly came rushing back, as did numerous other tunes I've heard or even produced on the trail. Music comes from a place deep inside, a place void of conscious thought and ripe with emotion.
Music links that inner place to the outside world in ways that are both personal and fundamental.
As you walk into the backcountry, your inner self emerges as the pressures of everyday life recede. You react with emotion to the essential world around you, and song is a natural expression of that emotion. Some folks keep the songs inside. Some, like the saxophonist, need to sing them to the world.