Our home is one that is very fluid and shifting. We’ve welcomed more then we have turned away and in that, met those who would change us forever. A Hippies Home is a happy one. A suspended band of memory hanging throughout the living room. The beanbags and beaded drapes fade into two dimensions.
The colorful children run and play through a time bent haze, moving through the realms of reality and imagination. Here the dragons and castles come to life out of aged tapestries once hung, now pulled and tattered with love, they lie as ancient stones now under the young king and queen. This is our home.
We tell the stories of our ancestors, brothers and sister, mothers and fathers through the winding of the day. In each task we touch and smile we share, we call them forth to live in our way. Teaching us through the bruises and broken bones that now have turned earth to apple, we grow together.
A Hippies home is full of food. Growing from tree’s and plants placed in places not always conventional, but surely comfortable. The greens and reds dance into fires of spices and sounds, taking natural flavor through psychedelic experience, leaving a plate of momentous memory. Sitting, dancing, standing by the flame – we eat and share united in our struggles, our joys, and our adventures. Always pushing and seeking the stories told only by stepping through the stones of life.
We cry and weep and the moments that we part, when our tribe dwindles through the day as time itself ceases to pay the tax asked by the selfish and tight hearted. Our way is to move and in consistent form we are like the River. Many brothers and sisters are formed in the great force of our mothers body and where they split, the paths wind through unknown forests, mountains, and earthen homes until last they return to the great body they were born.
A Hippies home is colourful and bound by light. Captured in crystals, artworks, sounds and sights. Their hearth is a treasure trove of trinkets, trifles, and tribulations which have lead them to this road and resting cove.
Today they are here and the land they’ve touched is held dear. The music sings sweeter and the winds tells of times to change the trials tune. The rain comes with a new fervor, ordering life to be abundant again. Tomorrow, they will be gone and nigh a sign will tell of the stories you’ve heard. The grass will dim and the day will turn as winter calls out to the fleeing light in longing. The marks and former tents stakes packed and tucked into cavities unknown, the tarps tied, horses fed, they’ve told tale of heading east. Following the sun, to preserve the day. Those Hippies home is headed away.