Darling, remember
When you come to me
I'm the pretender
And not what I'm supposed to be
But who could know if I'm a traitor
Time's the revelator

They caught the katy
And left me a mule to ride
The fortune lady
Came along, she walked beside
But every word seemed to date her
Time's the revelator
The revelator

Up in the morning
Up and on the ride
I drive into Corning
And all the spindles whine
And every day is getting straighter
Time's the revelator
The revelator

Leaving the valley
And ducking out of sight
I'll go back to Cali
Where I can sleep out every night
And watch the waves and move the fader
Time's the revelator
The revelator

Queen of the fakes and imitators
Time's the revelator

-Gillian Welch

How much are we products of the places we grow up? How much of this place do I carry with me, and in me? I look around my home town, or rather my home island, and I know I could never be satisfied to stay here. It is beautiful, both the land and the people, but small in the same ways. I look at the lives of the people here and become discontent. I do not want life in the way they have it. Don't get me wrong, on the whole there is nothing wrong with their lives, they are good and full. But I have seen more, and now this is not enough. But I wonder if I am really any different from these people I so easily pass judgement upon. Why should I think that I need something more than this place can offer? Is it simply in the seeing and the learning and the doing that one is driven further afield? If so, where am I to go?