We landed on level ground, and I held onto my friend's purse so that I wouldn't get lost in the crowd. The forest through which we hiked was replaced by masses of people, and my friend and I pushed our way to blob of mud from which, while we couldn't see the stage, we could hear the music. We were there to listen to the songs of a certain country/western legend with a certain infamously prodigious bosom. She sang as if she was still nineteen years old, and she wore a tight-fitting blue sequined dress. You can't help but love Dolly.

Maybe because the weather was perfect; maybe because it was Golden Gate Park; maybe because it was Dolly fucking Parton, the whole crowd was generous and happy. Often, at free city concerts, it's too hot or too crowded, or people are too drunk, and the audience members tussle for the best views of the stage or the best dance/flail circles with which to associate themselves. Not yesterday. Not for my friend and I, anyway.

We found ourselves on a patch of ground from which the performing area was obscured by branches, but it didn't matter because we could hear everything as clear as a wind chime. We leaned against a piece of machinery and were content to watch the crowd and listen to the music.

Somehow, I swear we managed to surround ourselves by the sweetest bunch of people in the overcrowded park. Totem poles formed all around us, consisting of parents with their children lifted over their heads, or tall men with their diminutive lovers on their shoulders. Young people nestled in the boughs of trees so that they could see the stage. I wished there was a climbing tree near us, but there wasn't. That was okay.

There was an older couple, probably in their early sixties, to our immediate right, who took a liking to my friend and I. We didn't exchange a word with them throughout the concert, but we could tell they were fond of us. They held each other like they were still in puppy-love, and looked back at us, smiling because they knew we were noticing them at the same time they noticed us.

While Dolly sang "Little Sparrow," I left my leaning-place to seek a better view of the stage. I found one, but I was surrounded by obnoxious drunkards audibly masticating on pretzels and their own overblown personalities, so I returned to the spot where I could hear the music, and could stand by my friend and the friendly cluster of unfamiliar audience.

My friend later told me that the older couple had planned to save my "seat" for me against the piece of machinery. When I had abandoned it, the older man filled it, and his wife said, "But that's the little red-haired girl's seat!" "Don't worry," he told her. "When she comes back, I'll move over." Turns out that when I returned, there was plenty of room on our patch of ground. I found a new place, and everyone was comfortable.

Since moving to California, I've missed the dramatic changes in weather, especially now that autumn would be approaching if California knew what autumn was. I'm picking up on the subtleties of Bay Area weather, though. Each day is like its own biodome. Cold in the morning, warm to hot in the afternoon, and chilly again at night. Sometimes, it rains. Sometimes the night sky is both bloody and black; other times, it's navy blue with pinpricks of starlight. In the mornings, fog rolls in, jubilant and clumsy, like a friendly, stupid beast, and is later evaporated by the afternoon sun.

There's no lack of variety. Just so happens that the whole show takes place within twenty-four hours, as opposed to twelve months.

I won't lie to you, though. I already miss the abrupt changes in seasons. I can't believe I won't see my beautiful backyard covered in snow; and what's the point in these trees being deciduous if they don't get to flare in color before dropping their leaves?

There's a give and take to every life change. So, in moving from Chicago to California, I gave up rainbow autumns and bright blue snowfalls for hills and perpetual greenery. When I moved from Massachusetts to Chicago, I sacrificed mountains for freedom. What I make of these decisions is up to me.

The park was beautiful yesterday. After the concert, my friend and I hiked our way back through the forest. The early afternoon aroma of mud and yams had been replaced by a scent of eucalyptus and marijuana. We hiked to the street, took the bus to the train to the train to the bus, and arrived home.

From my back porch, where I smoke my cigarettes, I could hear deer scuffling. Like every night, after the village streetlights were extinguished I saw stars.

~ Last Five Entries ~

Hey! Who's That Drunk Chick on the Blue Couch? - 11.23.05

Ratso Rizzo - 11.11.05

Chunks - 11.06.05

Treasure Hunts, and Why I Have "Psychic Tony" Programmed into My Cell Phone - 10.24.05

The Lights Are Much Brighter There - 10.10.05

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BUY JEN'S BOOK! BUY IT! DO IT!

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BUY DEAN'S BOOK, TOO! YOU KNOW YOU WANNA! SERIOUSLY.

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