Bon Iver and I went for a hike this afternoon. We stopped by a mountain stream for a while just to smell the cool air. He knew the names of all the trees and grasses. When I began to tire, he could sense it, and he started to whistle, clear and loud and strong. ‘What’s that you’re whistling, Bon Iver?’ I asked. ‘It’s a song my grandfather taught me. They used to whistle it in the foxholes to keep up morale.’ We kissed, and I could taste the bittersweetness of his memories.
This is by far the greatest blog I’ve ever seen (and I’m STILL bored by Bon Iver…). Ha.