"I've got a mountain to my right, an old barn to my left,
Let the morning come
There's birds singing in the air, a mighty river over there
Let the morning come
And I don't think it's too much to ask
To have a little piece of time to digest life's facts
With the sun risin' up and the heat beatin' down
Let the morning come"

It's music that sits on the fence, not too folksy, approaching country without quite getting there. The instrumentation of guitar, mandolin, pedal steel, fiddle, and cello weave a wonderful feather bed for Julianna's voice. It's about the song, the lyrics, and the feelings that came to life in a few verses and a chorus or two.

At Kerrville, Texas a couple of years ago, Julianna wrote this little gem sitting in a state park waiting for me to take a hot shower (I needed it):

"This is the land of my father, where the oil fields stretch for hours
And the cotton rows lay out for miles and miles
The drawl is not lazy, but it swims beneath the language
Like the thirsty roots of lilies in a pond