The skies can just plain open themselves up on us. They can deliver. It's mostly rain and snow, but sometimes, it's questionable and it's unexpected. The pattern and movement of these systems cannot be traced by even the fanciest of meteorological equipment. It will show up, all of a sudden and bang on or barge through your roof. It will fall flat, limp and soggy across your bedspread and you'll have to roll the lump off or talk it to the exit. These pesterings and intrusions are rarely personified. They're imagined, brought to life by the fears that we all brew in our overactive, and rightly so, imaginations. We tend to appreciate the right beauties, but we screw up when it comes to fearing the right things. Our fears - or most of them - don't even scratch the surface of what's really at the root of them, but we dive into them and we cringe when trying to anticipate when they're going to act on us.
Montana songwriter, David Boone, has created a musical project called Dawns, that is very interested in the kinds of things that keep us up at night, that make us weary throughout the day and all of the things that we think may or may not happen to us as everything comes to be or fades away, all according to some master plan that's been filed away somewhere. Access to said plan is non-negotiable and a non-starter. Boone sings, "I throw my hands to the sky. I question all that I know," as he loses his sleep, considering everything. It's a classic feeling of knowing that this dread is perhaps not necessary, but it's ganging up on him nonetheless and it's impossible to avoid.
These Dawns songs are sweet releases of the burdens that have been growing out-of-hand, that have been brokering his concerns. He'd rather that he could just hand them off - that he could just pawn all of the visions that are more harmful than they are good, for something that, if nothing else, would feel better. He'd like a little light. He would like for a beam of the stuff here and there, anything that could be lighter than what he's currently got. It's just not cutting it.