From the album Mud Blood Bone
This is a love song with no person in it. Clyde refuses the typical romantic object and instead offers the landscape itself as beloved. The trick is she never explains why or justifies the choice, she just names the world with the same reverence someone else would use for a lover's body.
My love is the valley / The breeze is its sigh
She uses possessive grammar like she's claiming a relationship. The valley doesn't symbolize love, it is love, and the breeze becomes breath, something alive and intimate.
My love is the mountains / That reach to the sky
The shift from valley to mountains creates scale but keeps the same tenderness. High and low get equal devotion, which is how you know this is about totality, not just pretty scenery.
The call of the night bird / I love every trill / There's peace and contentment / When everything's still
She loves the sound and the silence equally. That pairing, noise then stillness, suggests someone who has actually spent time alone in a landscape, not someone writing a postcard about it.
The wail of the coyote / The flight of the dove / It's all creation / And that's what I love
Coyote and dove, predator and prey, wail and flight. She doesn't romanticize nature into harmony, she accepts the whole brutal ecosystem as the object of devotion.
That's what I love / That's what I love
Repeating the phrase twice at the end feels less like emphasis and more like confirmation. She is saying it out loud to make it real, the way you rehearse a decision you have already made.
This song works because it never apologizes for what it is not. No explanation for why she loves the land instead of a person, no loneliness implied, no longing for human connection. Just a clear-eyed inventory of what deserves devotion. It is a love song that opts out of the entire romantic tradition and somehow still feels like one.