Festival Season! Holy McAnoly!
I am back home for a couple of days and marveling at the season so far. I’ve just come off what is probably my longest time away–nearly three weeks. I have cried and laughed, embraced old dear ones and shaken hands with new ones. I have taught and danced and led ritual. Walked in the Kansas night clothed only in the shimmer of moonlight. Sweated myself to exhaustion, got chilled in airports.
This leg of what Jason Mankey has quipped is “The Summer of Byron” began in a new state with some old friends. The Gathering of All Paths was an easy-going endeavor, in spite of the Arkansas Rooster–a sad little preacher who appeared at the driveway, claiming to be from South Carolina in a mission to save our meager and ragged souls. Mama Gina wrote a song about him, several of us sang to him, no souls were saved–though it was as hot as Hell some days.
Grateful to Shannara and her folks for a good time–frogs and music and cold wine in the fridge.
Next was a brief stopover in a small and sad town–one of many I saw in the Midwest (I will have more to say about that in coming posts). But I saw lightning bugs over a cornfield and did some laundry and got some writing done there.
On then to that powerhouse of a festival–Heartland. Such a beautiful site! And the food was extraordinary. No, really. There was always something delicious to eat at every meal. Cabin-mates were the best–Ed Hubbard, Dr. Don, Elizabeth and Lisa the Glassblower. We talked and made music and likely changed the world there. I met a tiny Dowager and her parents and grands. Hung out with Kayla and Erin. Danced around the fire clad in ember-glow and taught three of my favorite classes to big audiences.
Yeah, I liked it. A lot.
More later on the journey to Kansas City, MO and returning to the sweetness of St Louis Pagan Picnic.
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