48 hours later I remain insulated and blissfully unaware of recent events. My mind is spacious and soft. I have been gently placed into a world of nature and wonder.
In the farmhouse I meet the group of rock musicians. My traveling companion dances around her boyfriend. The mood is festive. There is a lot of cheer. One of their tunes is played repeatedly on the radio.
The next morning, out on the front porch, Sam, who is from Hawaii, silently fashions me a pair of sandals from leather scraps...they lace up past my ankles. On the wooden step beside him the fluteplayer sends a silky sound drifting out over the cool grasses like smoke.
The old school bus outside the front door is being packed with sound systems and band equipment. They are readying to depart to the next string of performances.
This is chapter 2 of my memoir on early art influences...a sweet turn.
Quick graphics created using Sumo
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