Here we are, sat drinking tea and listening to music. Sabbath blessings abound, and outside the foghorns are still sounding on the Clyde.

Specifically we are listening to a CD sent up to us from our old friend and neighbour, Terry. Terry is a lover of Bluegrass music, and regularly digs out music that he thinks I will like-  he is usually right.

This time he sent an old Iris DeMent album- The way I should.

The first track made me cry- it somehow hit the Sunday morning spot. It is saturated with longing and hope- all the more so as it is associated with the kindness of a friend.

See what you think- click here to play…

When my mornin’ comes around, no one else will be there
so I won’t have to worry about what I’m supposed to say
and I alone will know that I climbed that great big mountain
and that’s all that will matter when my mornin’ comes around

When my mornin’ comes around, I will look back on this valley
at these sidewalks and alleys where I lingered for so long
and this place where I now live will burn to ash and cinder
like some ghost I won’t remember
When my mornin’ comes around

When my mornin’ comes around, from a new cup I’ll be drinking
and for once I won’t be thinking that there’s something wrong with me
and I’ll wake up and find that my faults have been forgiven
and that’s when I’ll start living
When my mornin’ comes around