Dear Bob Dylan,

The strangest thing about Tempest is how it has managed to return me to you. Men’s music worth noting, that is how I think of this album, a slow re-awakening. I remember how I used to be (feel). I remember how it was you (me) rolling and tumbling, turning to the sound, breaking like poverty over the ground truth of your lyrics, eating each song alive.

You haven’t stopped evolving. This is what I’ve realized, though I’d realized it before, it’s like a new dawn. Have I already said re-awakening? I have. Perhaps I’m not feeling well. Like many women I falter. I’m four decades down and sitting back on my heels is a milestone.

I can’t even choose a favorite song. I love them all. I feel like I’ve been breathing your words for a long time and I can barely survive their beauty.

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