….. in the gentle evening heat, as soft light slowly filters through verdant leaves and the air is still, but present, almost palpable.  These are the dying days of June, when reflection turns to melancholy and I feel the phantom pain of that which is missing, rather than the real pain of that which is here. These are the times I want to plead for one more conversation, even an argument, one more shared meal.

These are the times I am haunted by CSN and Y lyrics.