‘Standing By The Well . . .’

 by whiteray

As I wrote here a few weeks ago, when it comes to seasons, “I always claim autumn. To me autumn is a bittersweet season, and for as long as I can remember, bittersweet has been my default.” 

That means that the two sometimes get conflated: Things bittersweet – even though the season might not be clear – often feel, to me, autumnal. So it is with the fourth – and final – song I offer here that carries to me the weight of the season. 

When The Band was recording its second album in 1968 and 1969 – the brown album titled simply The Band – pianist Richard Manuel brought a chord pattern and a melody to Robbie Robertson, who wrote the bulk of the group’s songs. Manuel couldn’t find the words he wanted and asked for Robertson’s help. 

Robertson responded with “Whispering Pines,” one of the most evocative lyrics of his long career: 

If you find me in a gloom or catch me in a dream
Inside my lonely room, there is no in between
Whispering pines, rising of the tide
If only one star shines
That’s just enough to get inside
I will wait until it all goes ’round
With you in sight, the lost are found

Foghorn through the night, calling out to sea
Protect my only light, for she once belonged to me
Let the waves rush in, let the seagulls cry
For if I live again, these hopes will never die
I can feel you standing there
But I don’t see you anywhere

Standing by the well, wishing for the rains
Reaching to the clouds, for nothing else remains
Drifting in a daze, when evening will be done
Try looking through a haze
At an empty house, in the cold, cold sun
I will wait until it all goes ’round
With you in sight, the lost are found 

There’s no mention of the season there, but as desolate as that lyric is, it is to me autumnal. From the time I first heard the song in late 1969 until now, all of its details tell a tale that can only be told in the last four weeks of autumn, a time I once called “a four-week slice of rain and gloom and bitter wind.” It’s a time when the grass has gone brown, the leafless oak and ash trees offer only stark bare branches, the sky stays leaden, and the needles on those whispering pines are a green that is much closer to gray than one can bear.