‘A Light Beyond These Woods . . .’

 by whiteray

It’s a circumstance that’s fated to be repeated over and over: One of my favorite musicians has left this world. 

Nanci Griffith, a Texas-born singer of clear voice and unique diction, left us last week, leaving behind a discography of eighteen original albums released between 1978 and 2012 (along with some compilations and live recordings) and a large community of grieving fans who loved her frequently gentle songs that sometimes hid inside them a bit of biting commentary. She was 68. 

I was one of those fans ever since I came across her work in a Minneapolis record store nearly thirty years ago, eventually collecting all of her studio work and some of her live recordings – some 260 tracks – in formats that range from LP to CD to mp3. And it’s difficult to put into words today what it was about her music that drew me in and what it is about her departure that affects me so. 

Examinations of those topics will come later, I’m sure, after ideas and emotions percolate a little bit inside me. (That’s long been my process, meaning I know the exactly right response for a difficult conversation weeks after the conversation had ended; the same thing happens with writing, although if no deadline is in effect, writing is a little more forgiving.) 

For now, though, it’s enough to listen to one of Griffith’s gentle meditations on life, time, and friendship, “There’s A Light Beyond These Woods (Mary Margaret).” It’s from her 1987 album, Lone Star State Of Mind. 

There’s a light beyond these woods, Mary Margaret.
Do you think that we will go there
And see what makes it shine, Mary Margaret?
It’s almost morning, and we’ve talked all night.
You know we’ve made big plans for ten-year-olds,
You and I. 

Have you met my new boyfriend, Margaret?
His name is John, and he rides my bus to school.
And he holds my hand.
He’s fourteen, he’s my older man.
But we’ll still be the best of friends,
The three of us, Margaret, John, and I. 

Let’s go to New York City, Margaret!
We’ll hide out in the subways
And drink the poets’ wine. Oh,
But I had John, so you went and I stayed behind.
But you were home in time for the senior prom,
When we lost John. 

The fantasies we planned, well, I’m living them now.
All the dreams we sang when we knew how.
Well, they haven’t changed.
There’ll never been two friends like you and me,
Mary Margaret. 

It’s nice to see your family growing, Margaret.
Your daughter and your husband here,
They really treat you right.
But we’ve talked all night
And what about those lights that glowed beyond
Our woods when we were ten?
You were the rambler then. 

The fantasies we planned, oh, Maggie,
I’m living them now.
All the dreams we sang, oh, we damn sure knew how
But ours haven’t changed.
There’ll never be two friends just like you and me,
Maggie, can’t you see? 

There’s a light beyond your woods, Mary Margaret