‘Lines on your face each one a trace
Of happiness, distance and sorrow’
‘…This brings me back to a time when I first learned of expressing myself through the art of others. I left the cozy confines of the University of Vermont with a small group of friends and moved into the woods outside of Burlington, Vermont. It was a diverse team of compatriots. We organized ourselves into a collective. We rejected the term ‘commune’ in that we felt we had more of a political purpose. We organized locally, and went to march on Washington against Viet Nam and the draft. We started co-operatives to have access to healthy foods. We took the Summer of Love further–into a lifestyle.
Perhaps what I remember most then was the end of the day. My shelter was a teepee in which three other couples slept. There were pup-tents and lean-to’s and those who slept under the starry skies in their sleeping bags. In the center of it all, we had a nightly fire where we could talk and bid each other good night. After our active days and brown rice meals, we would reminisce and tell tales to each other or sing along with was an acoustic guitar. I think I first heard a rendition of this song then.
Little could I know that all too soon, I would become that old man.’