Friday, October 7, 2011


Sunlight. Bubbles. The movement of light through feathers and shells strung in an arch over the improvised stage. A Vermont band sends their music across the valley that opens before us on the hill...vast expanse of green punctuated by Queen Anne's Lace, Bull Thistle, Black-eyed Susan.

We wear wildflowers in our hair, too, and we move our bodies in this way that means summer, ease, the free and open exchange of what lifts on air, from each of us, because it is less dense than our physical forms. Because it is the same as what rises from the head of every other person present. Because it is made up of our love: the buoyant atoms of an etheric and gently lilting embrace.

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