Nose Roll

Nose Roll

It is a chilly Sunday early evening in late April,
at 5 pm in Woodstock.
I am always asked on the phone
by the techs and hotel managers I contact,
Is it where the festival took place?

I always answer, “it’s not where the festival of ’69 took place,
that’s 100 miles away in Bethel in Sullivan County,
but rather where the producers lived at the time.”
That’s how Woodstock got its name
and my little town has reaped the notoriety since.

The birds are going crazy,
chattering like old friends at a high school reunion.
The sound of the peace drum circle wafts over the valley
like a blanket of hush.

My dog, Henry, loves this time of day.
He senses that dad and him will run in the yard
to expel that pent up energy,
zooming from side to side,
I call his moves, “nose rolling in the grass”

Dennis Wayne Bressack
Woodstock, New York
April 24, 2016