Welcome to the latest edition of the Fog Chaser newsletter, sending a new original instrumental song to you every month, ideal for focus, healing, and soothing your fried nervous system. (Previously: Volume III Recap)
I write instrumental music as a balm, both for myself, and for others. I hope this month’s piece can provide you with a few minutes to zone out, recenter, or refocus.
🎧 Headphones recommended.
As a reminder: While some of my songs are eventually released on streaming platforms, others are not. Either way, all of my songs are shared here with you first.
Welcome to the the first post of Fog Chaser Volume IV: Desert Songs.
For those of you who have been here for a while, you’ll know that one of my main sources of inspiration is nature, specifically the nature of my home in the Pacific Northwest.
Lately, however — for a number of reasons — I’m spending a lot more time in the desert, seeking and finding inspiration in this wildly different landscape.
There are only four deserts in North America, and I have spent the bulk of my life in two of them: the Sonoran Desert, where I currently find myself, and the Chihuahuan Desert.
The Sonoran Desert holds a special place in my heart — I was born and raised in this incredibly diverse ecosystem1, where most of my family live, and where deeply rooted memories remain, inextricably linked to stark landscapes, endless drought conditions, and unrivaled colors.
As I shelter in the shadow of these hulking desert mountains again, I’m rediscovering so much that I’d forgotten. It’s the song of the mourning dove in the early morning and late afternoon that lulls me; it’s the great horned owls calling from the tops of tall Afghan pines in the cool evening air against a sky full of more stars than you can imagine.2 It’s the sound of wind through tall desert grasses and chaparral. It’s the smell of creosote after the rain, or the way the heat of the day evaporates almost as soon as the sun goes down.
It’s all of these things that transport me back to my eight-year-old self who spent hours (and years) exploring the desert; it’s all of these things that transport me back to my 17-year-old self who spent hours (and years) teaching himself how to play guitar in the shadow of these same mountains.
It’s for all these reasons, and more, that I’ll be responding to this place with song in the coming months.
It seems to me that the strangeness and wonder of existence are emphasized here, in the desert, by the comparative sparsity of the flora and fauna: life not crowded upon life…with a generous gift of space for each herb and bush and tree, each stem of grass, so that the living organism stands out bold and brave and vivid against the lifeless sand and barren rock.
-Edward Abbey, Desert Solitaire
🎵 This month’s piece is a guitar song in D major, in open D tuning.3
To date, I’ve only shared one other guitar piece in this newsletter. But I’ve been turning to it more and more lately, and it feels like the right instrument for the desert. I’m not sure why. Maybe because it’s here where I learned how to play, but maybe it’s because the sound mirrors the openness and aridity of the earth. It’s romantic but grounded, simple but rich, woody but airy. I like the feeling of it in my hands. I like the imperfections that exist when recording it. It was my first instrument, and the one I feel the most at home with — the one instrument that feels like an extension of myself.
A special note about this recording: I usually mix and master everything on my own, but I handed this one over to my friend Matt Wyatt at
, an incredible musician, producer, and writer.4 He very kindly gave this song his signature treatment, and I’m so happy with how it turned out. I hope you are, too.📷 This month’s photos were taken on film in the Chihuahuan Desert in West Texas.5
I invite you to sit with this month’s song, photos, and poem and make them a small part of your day, whether that’s your morning ritual, afternoon break, or your evening wind-down.
As always, if you feel like it, let me know what you think in the comments. I’d love to hear from you.
Thank you for being here.
by Fernando Pessoa6
🔈 A reading (by me):
Calm because I’m unknown,
And myself because I’m calm,
I want to fill my days
With wanting nothing from them.For those whom wealth touches,
Gold irritates the skin.
For those on whom fame blows,
Life fogs over.On those for whom happiness
Is their sun, night will fall.
But those who hope for nothing
Are glad for whatever comes.
🔒 For paid subscribers:
Thurs., May 22: If you’re looking for the “currently” section — where I share what I’ve been reading, listening to, and enjoying lately — I’ll send that in a couple of weeks.
Sun., May 25: A simple video of me playing this month’s song (solo guitar).
Until then, I’ll see you in the comments.
“In 2023, the International Dark Sky Association certified Saguaro National Park as an Urban Night Sky Place—only the ninth in the world and the second in the National Park system.”
through the tall grass / Written, performed, and recorded by Fog Chaser / Mixed and mastered by Matt Wyatt at Tree & Booms Studio.
Go check out Matt’s newsletter
; you can also visit his website or check out his excellent new album on , Exist Everywhere.All shot on 35mm film (Fujifilm Superia / ISO 400) / West Texas, USA.
Taken from Poetry of Presence: An Anthology of Mindfulness Poems (2017 / Grayson); translated from the Portuguese by Richard Zenith.
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