The haunting folk of singer-songwriter Windmills materializes through a haze of longing and regret, the creaking chord changes and subtle backing instrumentation only adding to the ethereal element, his voice a ghost in the wind, appearing only long enough to communicate a message, then gone. Lost in the breeze.

Another product of the Sunroom Recordz & Salon factory of talented folksters, Windmills (aka Wayne Mills) succeeds like so many in this collective by tapping into raw emotion without becoming overbearing, rarely overstaying his welcome on the short slices of melancholic melody from his latest EP Willow Ridge. It’s a searching, aching collection: is he welcoming the “virgin” light of a new day or dreading sober consciousness on “The Morning Light”? What is the speaker trying to escape in “The Black Rose”? Does all the recurring imagery of drought and thirst suggest spiritual yearning, an emotional need unfulfilled?

The answers, of course, are just out of reach, always on the periphery of these songs starving for salvation.