In 1975, the song “Wildfire” by Michael Murphey was a modest hit. I was six years old. It is the saddest song I have ever heard. In my mother’s brown Pontiac, “Wildfire” would come on the radio and I would turn my head to the window so she wouldn’t see me cry. The tone, the lyrics—almost fifty years later, I still can’t listen to it without tears in my eyes.
The Pleasure of Aging
The Pleasure of Aging
The Pleasure of Aging
In 1975, the song “Wildfire” by Michael Murphey was a modest hit. I was six years old. It is the saddest song I have ever heard. In my mother’s brown Pontiac, “Wildfire” would come on the radio and I would turn my head to the window so she wouldn’t see me cry. The tone, the lyrics—almost fifty years later, I still can’t listen to it without tears in my eyes.