Thursday, 31 March 2011

Sixty Nine

We swayed to the lilting lifts of the fiddle, chugging guitars and the drone of the accordion. I think that I was the youngest in the darkened room beneath the musiciana' stage. In an evening they convinced me, without words, that it does not take planes nor trains nor any form of transportation to take a person somewhere else. I was simultaneously in a stinking pub in deep evening and a sweeping field in early afternoon. I might have been anywhere. The bar became a castle and the floor a river where fish swam between my tapping feet. I think they'd been there all along.

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