It’s the music and sweat of a festival. It’s the sound of a sun
baked crowd. It’s the friendship of strangers around the sound of a chord. It’s
boys with super soakers and girls with fairy wings. It’s dancing barefoot in the grass and cooling off in the
river. It’s the taste of beer and smell of Mary Jane in the air. It’s tarps and
porta-potties. It’s the sound of a banjo finding it’s way to you though the
crowd. It’s the cowboy who raised cows on the grass your standing on. It’s the
hippie who comes every year from California, a 30 hour bus ride. It’s a nomad
from Wisconsin and the proclaimed mayor of Town Park. It’s a mother and
daughter thing. It’s the slide of dulcimer. It’s a troubadour’s first time in Telluride. It’s the grandeur of the mountains and
the smallness of the stage. It’s bluegrass in Telluride.
