The Fairfax Street Choir           
         Four Ravens Flying
                                      Trying Hard To Catch The Sun    

 Bill Craig I won't be in your dreams this morning...               


       The Choir held out for a long time to get Bill Craig. We wanted him in the Choir so much and at last he started coming to practices. A wisp of wind almost passed us by but there he stood light and airy.
       His tenor voice was so perfectly clear and unbroken. I wasn't used to that kind of voice but craving after anything that neared perfection I welcomed it into my life with thanksgiving. His own compositions were so beautiful that I always listened to them almost in a trance and would give dirty looks to anyone who might suggest a distraction from my intent listening.
    Today William Craig is an award winning photojournalist and poet, a musician, composer of music, songwriter and lyricist. He was called “one of the North Bay’s finest musicians,” by the Marin Independent Journal. His music has been praised by the San Francisco Chronicle and the Los Angeles Times. He was given the 1994 award for best narrative poetry by the California Federation of Chapparal Poets. He was given a certificate of achievement in 2008 by the California Newspaper Publishers Association and he has had several poems and articles published in the Napa Register, the
Chronicle, the Petaluma Argus Courier, and others. Born in Walla Walla, Washington,  his first articles were published in the Walla Walla Union Bulletin shortly after high school. He was educated at the Monterey Language Institute, the College of Marin, and California State University, at Sonoma. He is a former Air Force linguist, former Island Records recording artist, and lives in Napa, California.
                        
                                                Here's to you Bill 

                                   The rain has come and gone
                                    as the small buds open
                                    there comes to sound a note
                                    In the still morning, a Lark

                     The sound of a thousand monks chanting