First Show of The Season at the Bike Barn

I am checking the last musician of the night, Robert Blake. The show has gone from jumping stomping punk, loud drums and dancing that shook the floor through electric experimental to the quiet acoustic strains of a solo guitar. As I leave the barn a bat flies out with me. It’s about 10:40 PM my time. The air is crisp. The moon is full or nearly so, so it is bright enough to see out side. There is a single long white cloud, like a giant branching contrail stretching across the sky from west to east balanced, it seems on the peak of the roof.

Inside now, Amina is sleeping on the overstuffed Arts and Crafts chair next to me and Gertie is curled up at my feet. I can hear just a hint of the music, where earlier it was clear even through the walls. The hum of the refrigerator competes to break the quiet but loses to the strum of the six string. Amina, wrapped in her homemade wrap, is sleeping with her arms up in the air just like her Papa did a generation ago.

This is a good night.