Rooted

waiting for rain | the turning of the wheel | Cambridge Folk Festival

You can see the vertical drapes of rain, miles away over the horizon. Will they reach us here? Imperceptible drops, evaporating before they even hit the ground.

A prayer to no-one in particular out there, for succour and relief. Desperation to smell the petrichor, to feel a tickle of water sprinkle my skin. To hear the patter and see the ground being quenched.

The tease of a few drops on my window only to sweep away to the next town.

Buckled tracks. Hushed stillness. Melting. Sweating. Shrivelling. The coldest shower that the warm pipes could muster. Temporary relief. Small movements.

Still, we wait for rain.

The wheel of the year is turning. Too quickly for me. I’d like to take in each moment for longer; before the next day, week, month and season appears.

Lammas has come and gone; an amazing festival of abundance and gratitude, but also a glaring signal that autumn is on our heels. Followed by the seemingly endless dark days. I don’t mind the cold, but I dislike the darkness that autumn and winter brings. I’m sure there’s a hoary lesson in there somewhere, but I’d rather skim over it.

I came back from Cambridge Folk Festival a couple of days ago and I feel energised and excited about the songs I’m currently working on. My mandolin is getting a lot of use at the moment. Aside from the musical inspo, I came away having been soaked in good vibes. It’s hard to choose a favourite festival, but I’m going to say that this is the one.

Folk music is a genre that I really love. It belongs to everyone and no-one at the same time. Although traditionally rooted in people and places, it’s communal; and it’s for sharing and passing on. It was good to see that the scope of the festival included more bluegrass, blues and roots, and I hope it continues to showcase the incredible diversity of folk music from around the world and not just the British Isles.