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Welcome to the latest issue of the Fog Chaser newsletter, and the final song of Volume IV (desert songs).

This marks the end of the fourth year of sharing a new instrumental song every month. While I’ve released some of these 48 songs on streaming platforms, many I haven’t (and some I probably never will). Fog Chaser has just been this kind of direct-from-me-to-you thing, and I’ve loved doing it this way. Away from streaming services, away from algorithms, away from social media. And despite that (or maybe because of that) this has grown beyond my wildest dreams — from about 30 of my family and friends at the start to now over 8,000 kind and attentive listeners from all 50 U.S. states and 115 countries around the world. I’m truly humbled.

I wrote these songs for you; doing so has been one of the most creatively rewarding experiences of my life.1 Even so, I’ve realized it’s time for me to take a step back from the newsletter, to take a meaningful break. I’m not sure what shape this newsletter will take next, but I know this is a beginning, not an ending. I just need some time to refill my cup.

Thank you for all of your support, kindness, time, and attention. Some of you have been here since day one, and I can’t express how much that means to me. I’m so grateful to everyone who has listened.

🎵 This month’s piece is in C major.2

For the first two volumes of this newsletter, I wrote songs in all 24 musical keys, moving around the “circle of fifths” in music.3 It all began in C major with a song called “Flight”, so it feels full circle to end it in C major as well.4 Volume IV also began with a guitar song in an open tuning — my first and favorite instrument — so it feels fitting to end this volume like that, too.

Open tunings have felt appropriate for this series reflecting on open desert landscapes. Recently, I tuned my guitar to another open tuning I’d never used before — FACGCE, which is kind of a go-to tuning for the Midwest emo set (à la American Football). I’m not sure why I did it; sometimes you just need a change to help you find something new.

For the first couple of weeks, it didn’t yield anything. Luckily, my 3-year-old is not daunted by different tunings. I’ve been letting him crawl all over this guitar since he was a baby (I’ve never been precious about this or any instrument with him), so, as usual, he had the guitar on the floor, and he was strumming it (hitting it?) in this open tuning and it sounded quite beautiful. So I stole it. I sat down, copied exactly what he was doing, and just played the strings open for a bit (less hit, more strum). And that’s when this one finally started to emerge. It was all built on the open chord he was playing (which happened to be an FMaj9). I guess I’ll need to give him a songwriting credit on this one.

📷 This month’s photo was taken on film in Saguaro National Park.5

Desert light / moonlight / light leak.

If you’ve been here for a while, you know that the bulk of this newsletter has drawn inspiration from my home in the Pacific Northwest. Volume IV, on the other hand, has been a reflection on deserts — an homage of sorts to the geography of where I was born and lived most of my life.

Last year, we spent a large chunk of time in my hometown of Tucson, and, while we are now back in the PNW, I’m so grateful for the time we got in the desert with my family. The desert you see in today’s photo is something I carry with me always.

by John O’Donohue6

For Josie, my mother
On the day when
the weight deadens
on your shoulders
and you stumble,
may the clay dance
to balance you.
And when your eyes
freeze behind
the grey window
and the ghost of loss
gets into you,
may a flock of colours,
indigo, red, green
and azure blue,
come to awaken in you
a meadow of delight.
When the canvas frays
in the currach of thought
and a stain of ocean
blackens beneath you,
may there come across the waters
a path of yellow moonlight
to bring you safely home.
May the nourishment of the earth be yours,
may the clarity of light be yours,
may the fluency of the ocean be yours,
may the protection of the ancestors be yours.
And so may a slow
wind work these words
of love around you,
an invisible cloak
to mind your life.

I invite you to sit with this month’s song, photo, and poem and make them a small part of your day, whether that’s your morning ritual, afternoon break, or your evening wind-down.

As always, if you feel like it, let me know what you think in the comments. I’d love to hear from you.

moonset

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