There’s a neighborhood in Greensboro where the residents string giant balls of lights in their trees around Christmastime. The luminaries are beautiful, in an arresting way. When you drive through at night, the lights seem otherworldly, and almost holy. Because that illuminated neighborhood sits between my apartment and most of the places I have to go, the multitude of lights is a part of my comings and goings. My attention, normally on the place I need to be, is consistently interrupted by the transcendent. My ordinary drive is transformed into an extraordinary one. in the space of neighborhood traditions and wonderful marvels, Luminaries is about the interruption of the transcendent. This quintessentially “Greensboro” piece of music was written for Isaac Pyatt, one of my first friends when I moved to town.