When the Man Comes Around

Ten years ago today, the man in black got to trade in his somber tones for a robe of shining colors. Back early in the history of this blog, I wrote a little remembrance of some of his later work, at times the subject of criticism for its "old" sound. Unusually for me, I think I got something right the first time, so I repeat it:

I'm a Johnny Cash fan, and from time to time I converse with people who are also fans, but who don't much appreciate his final albums, especially the last two or three. He sounds old, they say, and worn out. I want to remember him young and with that powerful voice. What's to like about him later on?

Here's one shot at an answer.

Listening to the Johnny Cash of "Hurt" and "The Man Comes Around" is like listening to the wind blow through a tree in late autumn. Most of the leaves are gone and those that remain whisper where they once spoke out loud. The whisper and the bare limbs scratching at a leaden sky suggest life at its end and are only ghosts of the swelling green surf that waved in blue summer seas.

But even so thin and pale a ghost holds the shape of its history and its whispers echo a real past. Though it sounds and looks bare now, its strength roots in earth and days and it minds not illusions of feebleness and age. It has an ancient power unbound by time and one day will green again.

For those who care, this is a day of observance rather than one of obligation, so the wearing of black is encouraged but not required. Remembering those who are held back is, as always, strongly recommended.