i am writting this in the "bussiness room" of the days inn in marion, indiana. the town i once called home, and for whom i have a lot of love. i had a reunion tonight with todd bushong and erik fisher. we went around to a number of our old haunts and such. while looking around our alma mater's campus, we saw a red naugahyde couch on the sidewalk. this is a common sight at the end of terms at colleges. someone is done with a couch and they put it at the mercy of the sidewalk. but the couch we saw was no ordinary couch. nay, it bade us stop our car and get out and marvel. this was what i remeber as john drury's couch. it had first belonged dr. pattengale, in the early 90s it then went to the RD of carmin hall who was a friend of rich mullins (the legend in christian music circles) and rich slept on it a few times. after that this couch was in the room of eric nentrup, the on to john. i remember one night having a heart to heart conversation (and john had a way about him where that was the only kind of conversation you could have with him) on that couch. there were three iwu students there. we explained to them, in a way that must have appeared to them to be both random and desperate, the story of the couch in order that it's lineage and legacy not be forgotten. but it was like a homeless person under the street light. perhaps a man of prestige and power who had lost everything, or a professor rejected by the "new blood" of the school. anyway, it made me kind of sad to drive away from it, not knowing, for sure that its story could be preserved and passed along.
several hours later, when i returned to this hotel where my wife and kids are fast asleep in room 204, under the influence of nostalgia and caffine, i climbed into the back of the gold van and pulled out my guitar. marion has a way of inspiring artist that i have not seen in many other places. the town is like a living painting, or enfolding drama. but it is not a pretty, "sunshine and roses" picture or scene, but dark, mysterious and enchanted. my lady marion, the muse, she did not fail me, i composed the bones of a folk balad in 6 within minutes. it was in the air, and all i had to do was breathe it in. now i need to catch some shut eye.