IT came and went.
On the way up I saw the stars.
Before the final miles we gather what we can of our tribe, put our carriages in line with only 13 miles to go, but dreams are never made true so easily. All the tribes have arrived, each must await ITs allotted place, so we stop to wait. Tribes meet and sit, break bread, raise a toast, compare legends, on a strip of asphalt cluttered with sleeping machines strangers are well met in the most ancient of ways, new memories and friends are formed and the legends all expand around each other. But the true gathering still awaits and patience can only be held so long.
After more hours of waiting than we could ever hope to withstand, and a top-gun style fly-by by the band, we finally find our place and race to establish our circle of shanty. Already slightly toxic we could just fall down, but the gathering grows quickly around us, there is too much to see. Shakedown Street. Merchants selling and bartering their wares, some on display, some whispered in your ears, as you flow through the heart of town, get a feel for the scene, the lay of the land, only then to retire to dream of the band.
Awake to the sun, music, madness in the air. The rest of our tribe appears, too many faces not seen in too many days, so nice to share our memories together, fill in the blanks for each other, always more to talk about as we tend to grow old. But that is not really why we came, new memories are soon to be made. Break bread, raise a toast, share an extensive hello
