"The green jungle of summer changes everyday: more dusty flowers, moss in the woods like velvet, grass like cool water, the moving ever changing tree shadows tattooing the earth and body, the overgrown forest's edge burning gold in the patches of evening sun, bending slowly in the rain cooled still warm wind. And I too growing, baking, sprouting with the earth: dirt covered feet and hands, hair melting gold from the sun, growing long and tangled, and limbs tanned from the incessant vitality to be outside among the summer earth."
-SUMMER IS A FOREST FOR WILD SPIRITS, Rachel Bushong / July 2014
When Mark Foster screamed DON'T STOP DON'T STOP DON'T STOP at the end of their set as the golden sunlight set the stage on fire and shot in straight beams through the cityscape and the trees, my blood boiled in this explosively present fever. The crowd jumped in sync, screams running hoarse, hands and wristbands lifted to the sky, none of us ever wanting to stop this magic madness.
At festivals (and for me, Lollapalooza just last weekend) there is a sacred unity shared between you and the crowd, the artist, the sky, the sunset, the city, the mud that streaked your ankles and stained your shoes. This unity glows in the blinding rosy or piercing fluorescent lights shining from the stage and drenching the sea of thousands. And it's magic when you feel the urge to turn to whoever's beside you and already you're both screaming the lyrics, your faces shining with rain and sweat, your hair ratty and tangled, your eyes sparkling.
-SUMMER MUSIC FESTIVALS WILL SET YOUR SOUL ON FIRE, Rachel Bushong / August 2014
"To me, July is the golden pollen drenched air, wildflowers and green forest jungles growing over the hot roads, feet dirtied from too much/never enough skating, shirts crumpled on the asphalt, sweat sweetly shining on the brow. Summer has taught me how to embrace the thrill of the night surrounded by friends, running up the sand dune jumping, rolling, tackling each other all the way down drenched in humid sweat; how to crouch low as the headlights on the country road pass before we all fly under the barrier and across the street like bandits, seeking only to feel the pulse of summer; how to lightly, with one swift motion, hop fences, landing softly on the turf of the football field, everything hushed, the sound of a thousand deafening cheers, tackles and whistles of high school capsuled in the metallic echoed bleachers."
-TEEN SPIRITS NEVER DIE, Rachel Bushong / July 2014