Where we're from, the birds sing a pretty song, and there's always music in the air.

I'm heading for the hills tomorrow. An unlikely man heading to unchartered place. Whose to say what I shall find there? Questions? To be sure. Mystery? Certainly. Coffee? Without a hesitation or doubt in my mind. I'm heading to the land of the eternal music bed. Where simple pleasantries take on a shrouded meaning. Where the birds fly high and swoop low. Where the sidewalk never ends and falls into the lake. Yes, folks. I'm off to forge a path unto myself. And when I arrive I'll send word. And pie. Always.