[Little lamppost on the corner...evening sighing, “All's in order,”]
It was December in Minnesota: cold, harsh, and incredibly white. I thought I had finished my album line-up, having recently written "Ruby Red Lipstick" and "Eloise, Eloise." Many of the mock-ups were done, and the concept was swirling around, present, but hidden; I could make out its shape, much like the fluttering snow twirling in the streets, but the edges and lines were still quite undefined. There was so much I still wanted to say - or rather, much I wanted to evoke.
A sense of warmth. Familiarity. Something idyllic.
[On this quiet city street, where you told me we would meet...(I'm waiting)...]