![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
It turns out that Sarah Lee Guthrie, daughter of Arlo and granddaughter of Woody, lives in my town. We went to hear her sing tonight at a little cafe. Nothing spectacular--I wasn't ever sure even Arlo made it on his own talent and not his father's name, and this maybe even be more so. But she's a dear, pretty girl, and her husband, a local guy, isn't bad on the guitar.
The thing about it was the night. A warm summer night, even though it's April, sitting outside. The cafe's in an old mill village house, with a small patio. A litte crowd of people who know each other, the street lights shining through the leaves and the warm wind occasionally brushing our hair. A little beer, some hugs and laughter, the guitar and the sweet young voices. Not far away the river tumbles over the rocks, and we can smell the fresh honeysuckle. It seems like the best parts of my life have been nights like this.
The thing about it was the night. A warm summer night, even though it's April, sitting outside. The cafe's in an old mill village house, with a small patio. A litte crowd of people who know each other, the street lights shining through the leaves and the warm wind occasionally brushing our hair. A little beer, some hugs and laughter, the guitar and the sweet young voices. Not far away the river tumbles over the rocks, and we can smell the fresh honeysuckle. It seems like the best parts of my life have been nights like this.
Tags: