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.
