Hello beautiful song birds, travelling fiddlers, and mighty mountain men. Four days of my July have traveled, like the ebb and flow of a river. I am struck with the entrance of reality. I must return to my daily wanderings. My belly button must salute the sighs of strangeness, these eyes must welcome the earthly routine, and my head must return to hearing spirits plucked by head phones. The door of reality could beckon my tear pebbles. I could whine, like the dog without his bone, the woodland without its pine, the mare without her saddle . Instead of howling, I am collecting. Collecting the wonderment, the thoughts, and the memory of my four days at the Calgary Folk Festival.
The days leading to the festival are etched in fairies, and magical purring. When a music festival is on the horizon, my sphere becomes celestial. The blithesome heart beats, and the dawn of the festival began Thursday. We arrived at the gates, four hours early, just so we could pardon our eye sights with good seating.
Thursday brought highlights of Reverend Peyton's Big Damn Band. A country blues band, echoed with a washboard, and the reverend's raspy voice. They called the city skyline to bow to their hand clapping, whiskey slapping, feet jiving-heart thumping- kind of grooves. As they crowned the stage with the energy of a wild hound, I became alive.
I live for these four days. Like a rancher lives for his rain, or a dreamer lives for his boat, I live for the matrimony of left hands, and right hands, I live for the stomping of feet, and the charming symphonies.