woke up in good ol’ copenhagen .

stayed at the guldsmed hotel near the station. everyone else stayed with freidns. i awoke and flicked on the flop tap first thing to check some mails. there was a picture of emmy lou harris on yahoo opening page. i couldn’t resist hearing a song and clicked on her icon. she sang a new song she wrote about the homeless. then she talked about other songs on her new album. “darlin kate” was about her good friend kate mcgarrigle. then several pictures of her lit up my screen. the wainwright portal continued in that wake up call and then left a vapor trail embedded with wonderment about all the coincidences.

it was a slow day. some writing. seems i keep writing songs out here fast. i lingered in the hotel till the next plane at 3:15. got there late but had already checked in the night before when we arrived late from norway. no sweat. landed in brussels again. fetched by festival’s marium. she just lost her husband from cancer. has 2 children. she was beautiful and calm. the loss adds a thick soulfulness you can feel.

tour manager steve left arrived at the train station a few momonets after we landed. so we fetched him and drove out of the city to an undisclosed location in the country. there was a small festival going on there and we were due to headline one of the stages. just enough to eat something and set up. david Eugene Edwards came over to say hello as the sun was setting. but we missed bob log who played earlier.

steve was on board to crew and it always seems like such a luxury to have him. he wears a 3 piece suit these days. a fine reflection. but i splunkled some wine blips on his trousers. he doesn’t even drink.

we took the stage and boldly slunk into a set of songs instantly tapered for the festival goer. almost attempted one too many quiet songs, and then twanked back into full thrust and/or groove swample.

a satisfying display. the weather perfectly cool and summery. the people sweet and tickled. sara from the farm showed up to escort us all back to spend the night there in paradise. it was just 10 minutes away. she cooked up some righteous spread and we deployed the wine and single malt. it made for sensational cluster. the stars spangled. the farm was paradise.

at some point the whiskey offered us up a game of toss: small bags of tobacco into each other’s faces. i think it must’ve been an ancient game.