Jacaranda Tree

Josh Garrels builds this song around the image of waiting on porches for rain, a "drenching joy" that arrives like a carnival sky. But the honesty of the lyric is that joy and mourning arrive together — something blue-lined and teary is left behind even as the singer moves on. The repeated refrain holds the tension: all things will change, we wait for the rain, and the promise remains. From there the song turns playful and strange — hammocks, slingshot angels, floating belly-up, climbing up to Orion's ribs to listen for a pulse. The singer flings loosely into the world but stays heavily, then makes a small, stubborn vow: to be a Jacaranda Tree in Indiana, greenhoused and sung to. The closing prayer is for light leaking from pockets, for being drenched and overcome, with fireflies arcing like silent streamers of hope. It's a song about displacement and belonging, about waiting without pretending the waiting is easy, and about choosing to bloom in a place where you don't naturally grow.