This is the Parable of Marriage

Bill Morrissey--"Birches" (mp3)

Whether you know me personally or not, here's a bit of a revelation: this is the song that can make me tear up, sometimes weep, when I am alone at night writing a blog post like this one.

The history of popular songs is a long and varied one, but I will argue confidently that throughout those grand centuries, there are no lyrics greater than the ones that follow. Some as good, none greater. Bill Morrissey, relatively-unknown folksinger from somewhere in New England, has captured the nature of marriage in miniature in this song.

It is not a happy song, but perhaps not a sad one, either. Perhaps more a song of awareness and resignation. It does not make me weep for my marriage; it makes me weep for all marriages, for the state of marriage, for the inevitable ebb and flow of two people trying to move forward in the same place, at the same speed, with matched needs and similar goals, and the difficulty of pulling that off.

Birches by Bill Morrissey

They sat at each end of the couch, watched as the fire burned down,
So quiet on this winter's night, not a house light on for miles around.
Then he said, "I think I'll fill the stove. It's getting time for bed."
She looked up, "I think I'll have some wine. How 'bout you?" she asked, and he declined.

"Warren," she said, "maybe just for tonight,
Let's fill the stove with birches and watch as the fire burns bright.
How long has it been? I know it's quite a while.
Pour yourself half a glass. Stay with me a little while."

And Warren, he shook his head, as if she'd made some kind of joke.
"Birches on a winter night? No, we'll fill the stove with oak.
Oak will burn as long and hot as a July afternoon,
And birch will burn itself out by the rising of the moon."

And you hate a cold house, same as me. Am I right or not?"
"All right, all right, that's true," she said. "It was just a thought,
'Cause," she said, "Warren, you do look tired. Maybe you should go up to bed.
I'll look after the fire tonight." "Oak," he told her. "Oak," she said.

She listened to his footsteps as he climbed up the stairs,
And she pulled a sweater on her, set her wineglass on a chair.
She walked down cellar to the wood box -- it was as cold as an ice chest --
And climbed back up with four logs, each as white as a wedding dress.

And she filled the stove and poured the wine and then she sat down on the floor.
She curled her legs beneath her as the fire sprang to life once more.
And it filled the room with a hungry light and it cracked as it drew air,
And the shadows danced a jittery waltz like no one else was there.

And she stood up in the heat. She twirled around the room.
And the shadows, they saw nothing but a young girl on her honeymoon.
And she knew the time it would be short; soon the fire would start to fade.
She thought of heat. She thought of time. She called it an even trade.

The craft of the song is stunning. It flows as effortlessly in its telling as a story, yet with the imagery and understatement of a poem, all the while being lyrics first, meant to be sung to a comfortable melody and a circular guitar pattern.

And nowhere does the song ever have to state its meaning. It is such a carefully-observed scene from a marriage that it tells us much more than we think we know.

Listeners to this song, we all of us want to believe that we are like the wife, that we are the one who choses passion over pragmatism, spontaneity over frugality, romance over common sense. But, of course, we do not. Not always. That ebb and flow of marriage depends on roles that vary and reverse. And if one partner locks in to a narrow.....

Bill Morrissey's Night Train is available, I hope. It has an undefinable "winter" feel to it, and is perfect for this time of year.