festival

I travelled by train up the coast to attend a festival, much like the Woodford Folk Festival. The train was old with wood panelling and open windows, just like the trains I caught as a child. I stayed in hotel-style accommodation; again, the building was quite old with wood panelling on the walls. After settling in, I wandered around the grounds of the festival. I was early and the crew was still setting up, erecting tents, stalls and stages. I found a place to have a drink and a bite to eat, and then continued walking the festival site. I looked in a few shops - temporary buildings - where treasures and books were for sale. I turned the pages of an antique book, the illustrations changing shape before my eyes. Before long, I found a few friends who were due to perform. I sat on a fold-up chair in front of a low stage and watched as my friends did an acrobatic yoga show. They were extremely impressive and very strong, balancing their bodies, standing atop one another. Suddenly, my chair lifted into the sky. I circled above the festival grounds, flying through the air, until I came back to land close to where I had taken off, and stopped by bumping into a wall. The festival site now teamed with people. I saw various women with whom I have shared house over the years, all attending the festival. I searched the crowds, looking for my friend.