Once, the sun welted across my shoulders,¹ the
speakers, my feet. We sat on folding chairs;
a sharp rock nudged against
my heelbone. But I paid it no mind.
The afternoon wrapped itself around
my ankles and wrists so honorably that I
did not request a rescue. Rambling around us, the
hours claimed space, checkmating the
sunbeam trends showcased by your kind of
strumming Woodstock pacifists and my kind of
swaying influencer activists.
And joy settled in among the crowd with
a gather-round campfire ease.² On my own,
I devoured the salad…feeling
grown from
its kalamata, vinegar healthiness. Then, when
it was too hot for frying oil ,
wearing my last-minute, look
and grab straw hat,
I wondered.
I wondered about the singing men next to us, and
how prepared they looked when
the basket of garlic, parsley, and French fries arrived
between sets. Brave of them for bringing
their barely toddling baby…
Braver still for them to pack utensils³…

    ¹ First go around at Newport Folk, 2018…epic…in over my head with friends whose souls sought deep-cuts instead of the top-twenty I embraced…burnt to a crispy tater, paprika red….weren’t no way I was goin’ ta do anything but painfully laugh my way through that day of lyrical awesomeness, you know?

    ² This festival is worth every dime because you witness a bountiful harvest of musical camaraderie through jam sessions and a community of shared language…in other words…my guts were shook….and stitched back together with the same loving carefullness one might use when repairing a quilt once owned by a founding father. 

    ³ Lucius, Nudes, “Woman (Acoustic)”, 2018… I opened my eyes from a sun-burnt stupor and heard heaven.