Today’s prompt was to write about the experience of live music. I think this will be my last of this year’s NaPo – I’m lacking energy and inspiration. But it’s been good while it lasted!

Somewhere several rows back I’m there, in

black Doc Martins and a blue dress (probably)

my long hair plaited to my waist (definitely).  I’m standing in

mud.  We’re all standing in mud.  I don’t know these

people and they don’t know me but we’re there

to see the man with the hazy brown hair and the

electric guitar.  Bob Dylan.  Glastonbury 1998.

I’m wide eyed and half starved and I had to wade

to get here, and now I’m standing in a dirty dress in a

flooded field surrounded by strangers and

I’ve just watched Nick Cave belt out Do You Love Me? 

We did.                                                                                                       

Now Dylan’s guitar is chopping through

Just Like a Woman.  A dark, muddy sound.

I’m as happy as I’ve ever been.

The rain doesn’t stop but nobody cares. 

The guitar, acoustic now, plinks a rhythm

and Dylan’s voice starts to creak out Masters Of War. 

Later I’ll remember listening to Forever Young in that field

and it’ll become a self-defining moment, my Woodstock.

I was young.  I thought that would last forever.

He never played that song.