Buried in Christmas

I have a shelf at home full of burned CDs. I almost never flip through them. Middle child problem. I sometimes stare at the towers of discs I bought/acquired over the years, with the patterns of spines that radiate a homey familiarity. But more often than not, I submit to digital ease and play something off the computer. Mostly stuff I never intend to transfer to a 1-cent piece of plastic. Which is fine. Like with most people, that's the neighborhood I've been building up the last few years. I'm trying to visit the burns from the just-pre-iPod era more often. Happily there's almost always a reward. Like this beautiful song. A fitting close to a week that began with looking at clouds.

Iron And Wine - Sodom, South Georgia