At the airport, that low country scent hung thickly in the air. I wasn’t quite ready to return to the cold clarity of the Northeast, but we aren’t always given a choice in these matters. In my head, a Mercer song played me out of Savannah:
Skylark
Have you anything to say to me?
Won’t you tell me where my love can be?
Is there a meadow in the mist
Where someone’s waiting to be kissed?
Oh skylark
Have you seen a valley green with spring?
Where my heart can go a journeying
Over the shadows and the rain
To a blossom covered lane
And in your lonely flight
Haven’t you heard the music in the night?
Wonderful music
Faint as a will o’ the wisp
Crazy as a loon
Sad as a gypsy serenading the moon
Oh skylark
I don’t know if you can find these things
But my heart is riding on your wings
So if you see them anywhere
Won’t you lead me there
Oh skylark
Won’t you lead me there?
