Saturday, July 30

we're always garden bound,

Happy Weekend love bugs,
The sun crawls in, the poet sheds his shelter, the puppy rolls by clover.  The smell of fresh bread enchants the baker's spout while the boy with lazy bones sighs for slumber.  Today is Saturday. The sky is special, and causing happy spells, while it scatters beams of heaven onto my lips.   All that grows blue inside of my brain is rejected when Summer dances. With such pleasant weather, it seems trite to choose suffering.   As my fingers press for juices in a lemon,  and my eyes wander over wagon wheels,  I sing the birds song. 


I sit here with cravings.  Cravings for the countryside, and the mountain brow, Cravings for the wild rock, and the shapely river. I am dreaming of my backside attached to an airplane.  I want to lend my hair to the ocean, while leaning towards sea creatures.  I want maps to lead me passed strangers, and even stranger languages.  I want to soften my shoes. I want to trip on foreign pebbles, and lick the plates of foreign food.   Beside the winter wood, I was born with a restless bag of bones.  I am not built for the simpleton gatherings, or the daily commute. I am garden bound.  

One day, I'll soak my temple in untried water.      Till then, I am young, and unfed. 
. . . .I must wait for my ticket. . . .
There are faraway lands I wish to comfort. There are moons I wish to coil. There are warm photographs of long-mane girls in flower gowns, I wish to become.  I watch the slides of my Mother's day. When the world was unbroken, and the girls dressed in garden splattered cloth.  Days of yore photographs seduce those who dream in flowers. How the, now vintage, fabric dance with the bodies of the frame. 

I can't play magic, and swing myself into the days of grooving. But I can, however, wear the cloths of Yesteryear.   A dress made of blooming petals, and 70's sentiments, causes me to become the long-mane girl dressed in the flower gown.    This dress, sent kindly from online vintage store Ravenous Creatures --is the chime of my closet.  The dress was tucked into a parcel, and caught my eyes two days ago.  The cloth is soft, like lamb fur, and the colors dance like a merry-go round.   As I pull the frock over my frame, I am caught,  caught by the magical tide. It's not often a dress can make you feel like home. But here, this posy-plucked uniform, tickles my spine, and brings me closer to the days of peace fingers, and radio you can sing to.   

Yesterday, Elizabeth(my peachy cousin), and the cinnamon boy stepped into the flower-decorated, water fountain sparkling, grassy park of Central Memorial.   The park is located in the pulse of the downtown. On the corner, there sits an ancient library, and sightly trees to snag your gaze.  The Park is a place to kiss the sunshine, and point your toes above water fountains.  

We wandered past bunches of petals, and statues built for the memory of airmen, and heroic people who fought for our lands. It's always nice to give our stare, and wonderment to the stories on these statues.   










We finished the day soaking our bellies with ginger ale, and smiling. Always smiling.

Thank you for lending your eyes.
((and Thank you Kimberly, and Ravenous Creatures for your support, and generous offering. xx))

Kisses !!
"Love is like the wild rose-briar; Friendship like the holly-tree. The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms, but which will bloom most constantly?" *Emily Bronte*

what i wore
dress-  Ravenous Creatures
shoes- atseoul.com
hat- jessica simpson- ross for less $20

Wednesday, July 27

calgary folk music festival 2011


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.
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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.  




Friday was fastened by rain clusters. Although, I begged Mother Nature to treat us kindly, she had plans for untamed skylines. Just as we were gazing upon Banjo king, Morgan O'kane, the crutch of water began to spill. The clouds buttoned dark colors to their cotton, while the rain caused bedlam for my legs. 

I was perched on a sweater with liquid bouncing off of my head. I could have pawned my temperature for a feather bed, but I didn't need to. Morgan O'Kane's band of banjo, dobro, fiddle, and cello kept my feet warm.  After swaying to the music made for mountains,  we found shelter in white hot chocolate.   Friday came to its end with Bonnie "Prince" Billy chiming songs for the tender belly.
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Saturday was the day I spent my Spring dreaming of.  The Felice Brothers, my favorite poetry penning- old country rambling- band of handsome brothers, performed on Saturday.  As they took the stage,  my belly cooked a pot of butterflies.  They played homeland favorites, "take this bread", "it's a wonderful life", and "back in the dance halls".   

Then, Blind Pilot had their solo concert.  Perfect harmonies. Perfect.



After spending the day chasing The Felice Brothers, and Morgan O'Kane, I found myself weeping to the song of Hallelujah caroled by KD Lang. I watched the stars stream yellow light above my head. I closed my eyes. I saw my Mother. I saw my fingers. I thought, "I'm alive, with belly grumbles, and eyes that see these stars,"..
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Sunday was a day dressed in bitter-sweet sugar.   The last day of the Festival is always tickled by sad thoughts. The four days we've spent our year waiting for, are hours to their finish. Every Sunday of the Folk Festival, I listen deeper, I find my stare, I wander farther, I chime louder. I try to grasp the day, like sand, watching it slip through my fingers.    

The final concert of Morgan O'Kane caused my head to draw thoughts of dream lands, and spellbound mountains.  Me, and the cinnamon boy, Carter,  had the honor of connecting with Morgan, and his band.   A band built by fine gentlemen, sweet cello, and pure hearts. Thank you Morgan for warming us into your world.        Sunday ended with Buffy St Marie calling peace songs.
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My favorite part of the Calgary Folk Festival? Each day, there are festival workshops.  A workshop is a place on a small stage where artists mingle, and songbirds strum with one another.  The small stages are the treasure of the Calgary Folk Festival.  It is here where artists tell their story, it is here where they connect, and harvest the heart beats of the audience.  The main stage holds clutter, and too many heads erasing my view.  The small stage reminds us, how these heavenly creatures who play these instruments, are human after all.
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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.
Thank you Calgary Folk Music Festival, thank you for breathing.
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All that is left is a head full of music, a body full of happy, and a pot full of pictures.   
Forever, I'll remember the glare of Ian Felice, the pure heart of Morgan Okane,  and the mossy hills kissing my feet......... Love for the music..

Hugs x