Tennessee log cabin. Huge walnut trees and a creek nearby, large flat stones in its bed for all to sit on. A guitar or two, friendly conversation, always laughing. Everyone beautiful. 1968. Dry county, no clubs, nowhere to go but a to a field or the woods. We go to Cabinwood. In all my life I've never since been in the company of so many people that I loved.
There is a hammock on the stone front porch that runs the length of the house. The large trees shade, and a breeze cools us. Three pairs of doors line the porch. They are open and music is on, something new, Cheap Thrills, Joplin singing something sultry and I watch Shannon dance. Every move matches the song as though she gives no thought to moving. Her body knows and she just enjoys it.
I didn't know then that this memory would stay with me. I'm a watcher not a dancer. In private with music on, I sometimes think of how easily Shannon moved to the music and I try to release my mind from my body and let the music make it move, sensual sound as my partner. It's as hard as meditation.
I've been reading the new Rolling Stone which is the 40th anniversary issue. It's looking back at the origin in "the summer of love". This is so evocative of what was going on there. Thanks...it's a beautiful memory.
ReplyDelete