This isn't really much of a post, relying as heavily as it does on the reflected glory of one much more talented than me.

Why bother then? Well, as it happens I was moved to post this beautifully written song after reading today's entry by Janet Weight-Reed who blogs here too - rather more frequently and interestingly than I can usually manage - musing on the imminent departure of a dear American friend of hers. Still, I possess the "calm confidence of a christian with four aces", as Mark Twain is attributed with saying, that my blogging will come right one day...and indeed, some days I think that it nudges near.

So, I should receive no praise whatsoever for merely knowing that there exists a song about South Dakota, from where Ms J W-R's pal hails as she tells us, even though this one is NOT from the film "Calamity Jane". I shouldn't receive praise but, at this non-self effacing juncture in my life, I'll take what I can get.

The source of glory here is Nanci Griffith and this song drips with the ennui of any number of middle-of-nowhere bars I've frequented on wasted, sunny afternoons when dust raised by the flapping of old newspapers scintillates in the shafts of light and induces, supports and fortifies one's temporarily louche disposition.

No wassname doodahed Nanci, just thingy and I'll oojah.